


Shape of My Heart

by lotusk



Category: DBSK | Tohoshinki | TVfXQ | TVXQ, EXO (Band)
Genre: Action, Age Swap, Age Switch, Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Anal Sex, Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Assassins & Hitmen, Attempted Murder, Blood, Blow Jobs, Comfort/Angst, Drama, Explicit Language, Frottage, Gay Sex, Gun Violence, Guns, Kidnapping, M/M, Minor Character Death, Minor Violence, Murder, Orphans, Outdoor Sex, Past Relationship(s), Piercings, Romance, Sassy!Kyungsoo, Sex, Tattoos, Tsundere!Jongin, Twins!Chanyeol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-17
Updated: 2015-07-17
Packaged: 2018-04-09 19:31:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 39,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4361474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lotusk/pseuds/lotusk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jongin is an assassin who leads a quiet, isolated life until his terrified neighbor Kyungsoo forces his way into his apartment and into his desolate heart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Apartment Building

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Ansa and Ren for being such wonderfully kind and understanding mods not to mention the most wonderful friends. And thanks to my Mija, just because. Also thank you Ansa for helping me work out tricky knots and giving me many morsels of inspiration and last but not least: for reminding me that Jongin has a French name ♡ 
> 
> My apologies to Ash and Rose for this huge mess they had to deal with. I AM STILL FOREVER SORRY you had to beta this! And thank you for the invaluable help even though I finished writing this so late.
> 
> MUCH LOVE to sprint room angels Reeza, Ansa, Bunny, Ash, Ren, Shanti, Gem, Ezrae and Frey. I literally could not have hit the 20k let alone the 40k mark without your help!
> 
> To Carmen and Stew, thank you so much for all the help with gun mechanics—you guys are lifesavers! 
> 
> And bless everyone on tlist who put up with my whining and who’ve helped one way or the other by encouraging me to not quit! 
> 
> This fic is inspired by Luc Besson’s [_Léon: The Professional_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DcsirofJrlM) and the title is derived from the movie's theme song, [Shape of My Heart](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S1xjq-QUOiM).

**THE APARTMENT BUILDING**

 

"Hey Mister, you got a light?"

It was that kid again, the one from the apartment across the hall. Some days, when Jongin returned to the apartment, he had to walk past the kid to get to the entrance of their apartment building. Never at the same time, though because routines weren't just predictable, they were dangerous.

He'd usually be sitting on a perch, looking bored, jaded and done with life. More often than not, he'd have a smoldering cigarette between his fingers and translucent mauve shadows beneath his large, moody eyes. Electric red hair with a brutal black undercut. Black helix piercings along his cartilage and seething tattoos on his pale forearms—mysterious dark symbols and curlicues making the boy's skin look degrees paler in the harsh sunlight of late spring. He wore black skinny jeans and a purple t-shirt that was so deep a shade of purple it was almost black. And on the front of the shirt was drippy white font forming the words: _My Chemical Romance_. Did people still listen to MCR? 

Details were crucial. Jongin had to be ever observant, to notice minutiae and every significant and insignificant detail about the people and places around him. It sometimes meant the difference between living and dying, so Jongin was always watching, filtering, storing away visual and auditory data for potential use one day. And at the same time he collected all this information, he made every effort to make himself as invisible and inconspicuous as possible to others. 

_Be invisible._ That was one the cardinal rules. His mentor had repeated it ad nauseum during his training years.

Because Jongin couldn't leave traces of himself anywhere, he was careful to keep everyone at a distance, speaking only to colleagues, clients and targets. He usually kept his head down, eyes concealed behind his bangs as he made frequent sweeps of the surrounding area. He usually spent no more than two months in any one place before relocating to another apartment block where no one knew him by sight. It was fortunate the city's housing council allowed leases for any number of months or he would have forfeited pockets of deposit money all over the city. 

He'd already lingered too long here for reasons he couldn't quite fathom. It was time to find a new place where he was a stranger and less likely to get engaged in conversation with random tenants. Three months was a dangerously long time to settle in a place. Sighing, he knew he had to start browsing through the Classifieds soon. 

_Tomorrow. He'd put it off long enough_. 

"Hey Mister, you got a light?" Burgundy-haired boy repeated his question, squinting up at Jongin.

"No."

"But you look like someone who'd have a light." his eyebrow lifted—skepticism staining his features. 

"I don't smoke."

"That's no fun."

Jongin shrugged, unconcerned, before heading swiftly for the building entrance without a backward glance.

"Hey Mister! Come on!" The boy called out again. Jongin ignored him, pushing the door open. 

"Fuck. Now I'll have to go back to the apartment for a light."

 _You should just quit smoking,_ Jongin thought as slid his hands into his pockets. 

Keeping his head down, he walked through the too-cool corridor and took the stairs up to his first floor apartment. There were no lifts in this old brownstone. It was one of those open stairwells where a person could look all the way up to the ceiling. And at the apex, i.e. the fifth floor, one could look all the way down to the ground floor and see faded black and white tiles cracked in certain places. 

Jongin always stayed on the first floor because it was high enough off the ground that it wasn't so easily broken into, but was also low enough that he could climb down the fire escape really quickly if he had to get away quietly—not that _that_ kind of situation arose much for Jongin. His mentor had conditioned him to always take precautionary measures, to make his environment work for him and provide him with protection. He always made it a point, to rent apartments buildings which housed mostly lower middle-class tenants. They were more likely to ignore what neighbors got up to and also less likely to try breaking into his apartment. 

_Safety first, Jongin._ He could hear the words clearly in his head—had heard them repeated enough times that it would probably be the last thing he heard in his head as he lay dying, whenever that might be.

♦

Kyungsoo had just come to a stop in front of his door when he heard noises that didn't make sense. Noises one heard in a movie—not noises one might hear coming from one’s own home.

"We didn't do it! We swear! We've never even see—" Dread creeping into his limbs, Kyungsoo recognised his roommate Jaehee's voice. It was frantic and broken, but it was definitely him.

"You're lying!" A gruff, baritone voice cut him off, and wincing, Kyungsoo heard the crunch of knuckles against face. A cry of pain resounding off the drywall.

"Mister, we don't know anything. It wasn't us! Don't h—" This time it was Youngsoo yelling in hysterical desperation.

“Did Eoreum hire you to kill Shim Changmin? Answer me!” The man, whoever he was, didn’t need to shout for the menace was clear. Kyungsoo flinched at the whip in that baritone voice even though the owner wasn't directing it at him.

“I’ve never heard of Eoreum or Shim Changmin, I swear!” It sounded like Youngsoo, but Kyungsoo couldn’t be sure because his roommate's voice sounded so different—shredded as it was by fear and anxiety.

"My source tells me otherwise. If you assholes are responsible for Changmin's death, I can't let you walk free."

"But we're innocent! We're telling the truth, I promise you! We've never even seen the man; how could we have killed him?"

"I've shown you the photos of the two of you leaving the building where Changmin was killed, and I've heard eyewitness accounts that you fled the scene." The voice was ruthless and uncompromising, and Kyungsoo’s stomach clenched with anxiety. What would he do to Jaehee and Youngsoo? Would he hurt them? Kill them? His heart was beating so fast 

"I—I can't explain it. We were there that day but we never saw this Changmin dude. We were just there to pick up some goods." _Goods?_ What kind of goods could those dicks have been collecting? It better not have been drugs because he would kick their asses so fucking hard—if they even survived this run-in with Baritone Man.

"This is going nowhere,” the man seethed in frustration and Kyungsoo flinched at the sound of furniture being kicked over. “I'm moving you elsewhere so we can get the information we need from you. We'll do what we have to to make you talk so don't even try hiding anything from us."

"i'm not. . .I can't—" Jaehee's voice was frantic. This didn’t surprise Kyungsoo because Jaehee had always been jittery, had always been the one with a fear of the dark. He never reacted well under stress, and being threatened with possible torture would definitely qualify as a stressful situation. 

"What do you think you're doing?" Baritone Man barked just before Kyungsoo heard a sequence of footsteps that grew increasingly louder. Was Jaehee running towards the front door? Oh fuck, that was not going to go well with Baritone Man. Instinctively, Kyungsoo stepped away from the door.

"No—!" His roommates' voices merged into a howl of fear; and Kyungsoo began tripping in his haste to move backwards, further and further away from the door. Part of him wanted to help, but he knew that going in there wouldn't save his friends. All it would do was add tension to an already hostile situation and give the intruders one more body to bargain with. He needed to find help—get the building super, call the police. He needed to— 

That’s when the gunshots rang out—muted by a silencer, but unmistakable. _One, two, three, four_ , Kyungsoo counted the shots with a detached sense of horror. He covered his ears as tight as he could, but the moans of pain were like daggers slicing into his soul.

 _I need to get out of here_ , Kyungsoo looked around frantically for an escape route, _I need to find a way out. If I take the stairs, they’ll catch up with me. If I knock on doors there might be no one home and. . .wait, neighbor dude who doesn’t smoke has to be at home—!_

Filled with a panicked sense of purpose, Kyungsoo turned on his heel and faced his neighbor’s door.

♦

Sighing, Jongin slid the bolt home. The thought of having to hunt for another apartment was about as appealing as eating nails for breakfast, but it was just another painful chore that needed doing. The first thing he always did when he entered his apartment was to hang up his coat—unless it was summer because coats stood out in summer.

He tended to carry a smaller weapon in the hotter months because anything larger would have been difficult to conceal. Once he'd disposed of his outerwear, he'd walk over to the window sill to visit with Mathilde, his daffodil plant. He was ever careful, though, to avoid sitting directly in front of the window. . . _Don't make yourself a target. Never make it easy for others to kill you, Jongin._

He turned his gaze to the drops of sunshine yellow brightening the dark wood window sill. Mathilde liked the spring air and sunlight—her canary colored blooms pointing joyously outwards. The windows changed with the seasons as Jongin eked out his nomadic lifestyle but Mathilde was a constant. . .had been a constant for the past five years. Jongin brought her with him every time he moved.

She had been his most loyal companion other than Minseok and Baekhyun, whom he only saw a few times a year. He and Baekhyun did, however, exchange text messages maybe once, maybe twice a week. He'd always had more in common with Baekhyun anyway, with the latter being only two years older. There was a ten year age gap between Minseok and his younger brother and he'd practically raised Baekhyun from the age of twelve and two years later he'd taken on Jongin too. Distance seemed inevitable with the age difference and it didn't help that Minseok was, by nature, a cautious and undemonstrative man. But for all his cold demeanor, Minseok looked after his own.

_Trust no one but each other._

Where Minseok and Jongin were quiet and contained, Baekhyun had never allowed the obvious dark side of their profession to dampen his innate sense of humour and ebullience. So there was at least one person in their company who said more than two words at any one time. Talkative Baekhyun was a relief to Jongin who spent far too much time in the company of Mathilde and the silence of his own thoughts. 

Mathilde offered a restful kind of companionship, but she was useless in the conversation department. She gave him as much comfort as he felt he deserved to have though, and even that was too much. Golden, sunlit petals glowed in the sunlight as Jongin tipped a glass of water onto dark potting soil. He knew it was just his imagination that the daffodils and their leaves seemed to perk up a little after the drink. 

Jongin's attachment to the daffodil plant was a source of amusement for Baekhyun, who periodically asked him, “Dude, you’re a hitman. Who has time for plant care in your line of work? Just get a damned cactus.” Jongin would just shrug and ignore him. 

_Daffodils meant hope_. His mother had told him that once when he was a child, and in the spring of 2010, Jongin had seen a row of daffodil plants in a flower shop window. On impulse, he'd walked into the store and left minutes later with a brown, bagged flower pot tucked under his arm. It was a stupid idea to cling to but everyone needed some hope in their lives—even someone as lost as Jongin. Even someone like him who had long lost his humanity, someone like him who had given up on hope a long time ago. 

_Always survey your surroundings, no matter what you’re doing_.

As he bent down to water the plant, his eyes flicked up and scanned the street below, then the roofs of the buildings across the street, then the facades of each building. It was a habit—like breathing. Jongin sighed as he caught sight of the man in the window of the apartment directly opposite his own. _Put on some damned clothes_ , Jongin thought as he averted his eyes. The man was an exhibitionist who seemed to relish in shocking his neighbors as he traipsed up and down his apartment barefoot and nude. It really was time to find a new apartment. 

He could do with a beer. He could really, _really_ do with a beer. He sighed as he headed for the kitchenette. It was too bad he didn’t drink; he didn’t like the way alcohol dulled the senses, the way it took control away. There was nothing in his fridge but two cartons of Borden's 2% low fat milk, a pack of Laughing Cow Blue Party Cubes and a bag of Golden Delicious apples. Pack light, buy light, buy the bare minimum to get by—it was an occupational hazard. He was reaching for a blue carton tucked into the fridge door when he heard the commotion.

"Mister! Open the door!" The knocking wasn't loud so much as frantic, frenzied. The voice was verging on panicked. Jongin didn't have to look through the peephole to know who it was but he peered through anyway because it could be the kid with any number of armed strangers.

 _Don't get involved with anyone. Don't help anyone._ A cold voice haunted him. Why the fuck hadn't he moved out of here a month back?

 _Don't get involved._ Jongin stepped away from the front door like the wood had turned into a nest of live snakes. Surely someone else on this floor would help. There were four other apartments—

"Mister, please. I think they killed my friends." Burgundy-haired boy's voice came through the door, so clear and desperate it was riddling Jongin's conscience with holes despite the inches of wood separating them. He didn't even have to look through the peephole to know it was him—he'd heard the voice enough times over the past three months to recognize it instantly. Also, no one else called him Mister that way.

 _Don't help._

If he turned the kid away and no one let him in, he'd have to take the stairs and there was no place to hide on those stairs. But if he let the kid in and the intruders in the apartment across the hall were after him too? He was bringing trouble across his threshold and he knew there would be nothing but regret if he caved.

"PLEASE OPEN THE DOOR!" The voice was choked by a sob but the sheer desperation that cloaked it was loud and undeniable.

_Don't help._

Grimacing, Jongin reached for his Beretta M9 and screwed on the silencer, cocking the hammer before holding it pointed upwards. He checked the safety. Off.

 _Don't help. Don't open that door,_ he said in his head, the words full of cold warning.

 _Don't help._

He knew he should walk away from the door, walk far, far away from that low, frightened voice. For the first time in the longest time, Jongin ignored his own advice. He took one final peek outside before opening the door swiftly, grabbing the kid by the arm and yanking him into the apartment. The door was open and shut with a stuttering whisper in less than three seconds. Senses on full alert, Jongin stood with his side against the wall. Gun raised, he looked through the peephole again. No signs of movement from the kid's apartment.

"Get away from the door. That's the first thing they'll shoot if they think you're here," Jongin hissed and the kid stepped hastily to the side, his shoulders stiff with terror.

"You have a gun," he pointed out as he rested the heel of his palm on his forehead—his flaming red hair looking very out of place in Jongin's monochrome apartment.

Ignoring the question in the boy's words, he asked, "Who are they? How many of them?"

"I. . .I have no idea. I only came back here to get my Zippo like. . .Then I heard gunshots and yelling and—God, I'm so fucked." His words picked up speed and breathlessness, his chest heaving as he ran his hands frantically through his hair. "Why is this happening?” His feet tapped out an agitated rhythm to accompany his pacing.

"Your friends—how many of them? And why would anyone want to kill them?" Jongin's voice was serious, maybe even harsh as he questioned the kid.

"Two. Their names are—"

"I don't give a fuck what their names are. What the hell were they into they got themselves killed? And were you into it too? I don't want any of your shit on my doorstep." Dammit, he'd probably have to move out right away now. _Safety comes first,_ and this building was compromised to all hell.

"I wasn't! I'm not! I barely even see them. I work nights, and they work days. They shouldn't even be home. I just. . .I can't really process anything right now." He slid down to the floor, sitting with his knees up—hands covering his face. Jongin didn’t think he was crying. Yet. He probably wasn’t crying yet because of the shock. After the shock settled, though, he’d probably have a sobbing kid to deal with. Jongin groaned with regret.

“I need you to think! Were they into drugs? Did they run with a gang? Did they steal shit? Could they have stolen something and pissed someone off badly enough they’d want to off them?” Trying to keep his adrenaline from spiking, Jongin held Kyungsoo's shoulder, shaking him slightly to pull him out of his stupor. He needed the boy to focus. 

"THINK," Jongin's voice was clear and arctic as he repeated the questions from earlier, one by one. It took the kid a while to calm down enough to answer but to Jongin's relief, he managed it.

"Not drugs. I don't think it was drugs—at least, I never saw any signs. No needle marks or shakes or trippy behavior. I mean they were assholes because they dirtied the place and I had to nag them for rent money but. . .but I don't think they were using." His voice was dead. Lifeless. He was providing details Jongin didn't actually need but he didn't stop him. He seemed to need to talk off some of the shock.

"Were they in a gang?" Jongin asked as he checked on the movements in the corridor.

"I don't think so? But when they were in high school. . .maybe?"

"Okay."

"Aren't you going to ask if I was in a gang?" The boy didn't sound indignant—just curious.

"You've never been in a gang." Jongin's words were matter-of-fact, and his voice and face devoid of expression. His words seemed to trigger something off in the kid. Pride? Anger? Jongin wasn't sure which emotion and maybe it was both; all he knew was that it flashed hot white—filling his eyes with a passion that was painfully intense.

"I could have been in three different gangs across the city. What the fuck do you know?"

"Your eyes give you away,” Jongin answered, “you haven't seen death firsthand or been part of anything truly violent."

"What's wrong with my eyes? Why can't they be a gangster's eyes?"

"Because your eyes tell me you still feel things. There's no space for that kind of thing in that line of. . .work." He decided not to mention that a thug wouldn't have gotten upset the way he had over people being killed—regardless of whether they were friends or strangers.

The boy looked like he was on the verge of unleashing a torrent of words, but in the end all he did was stare at Jongin with hurt in his eyes. Then he groaned in pain—sinking to the floor, his body crumpling into itself, hand stabbing away at silent tears of frustration and loss.

Jongin swore.  
"I know what happened with your friends is. . .traumatic. But I need you to _not_ have a meltdown now. I have to know exactly how much fallout to expect so you need to focus and tell me just what the fuck went down with your friends."

"Don't you get it, Mister?” Kyungsoo exploded, “I don't even know what shit they were into. I just wanted a goddamn light for my cigarette. If you'd just given me a damn light outside, I wouldn't have had to come back here. I wouldn't have heard the gunshots and the screams and I wouldn't be in here, hiding." He couldn't keep the bitterness out of his voice as he punched his thigh—frustration and fear underlying every gesture.

"Did you hear anything the killers said? Your friends? _Think_." Jongin took another peek at the corridor. No one.

"They—he, I think there was only one killer. He accused my friends of killing someone—like a paid hit. They said they didn't do it but the killers didn't believe them."

"Who were they supposed to have killed?"

"Someone called. . .oh God, what was his name?" The boy's fingers shook perceptibly as he brought the heel of his hand to his forehead like he could somehow squeeze the information out of his brain.

"Just breathe and focus,” Jongin instructed, “what was the murder victim's name?"

"He was called. . .Changmin. I think—I'm not. . .I can't be positive. Things were a little stressful."

"What else did they say?"

"They wanted to know if Eoreum hired them to kill Chang—"

"Eoreum? They mentioned that name?" The metal in his grip suddenly felt a few degrees cooler as tiny bursts of adrenalin pricked at his skin like needles of frost. Why was someone framing Minseok? His mentor would never trust anyone he hadn't trained personally to get the job done to his satisfaction. Not to mention the more obvious truth which would be the fact that anonymous clients hired Minseok to do the killing. He killed for others; he did not get others to kill for him.

In fact, Minseok had never ordered a kill in the 16 years Jongin had known him, at least not to his knowledge. The man just didn't care for that sort of thing. He didn't get personally invested in anyone or anything enough to want anyone dead as far as Jongin could see. And if, for some bizarre reason, Minseok had indeed wanted someone offed, he would have been more likely to ask Baekhyun or Jongin himself to do the cleaning. Or any one of the other four assassins on his payroll—all of whom had been personally selected and trained by him.

Jongin had seen the two boys who shared— _had_ shared this boy's apartment. They'd been unkempt and worn clothes that usually looked like they hadn't seen the inside of a washing machine for months. They were vastly different from their roommate who took a certain amount of care with his appearance. The kid wore clothes that generally looked clean and sported wine red hair that was always artistically styled. 

Minseok had exacting standards about personal appearance. In his estimation, someone who couldn't make the effort to keep themselves neat and clean couldn't be relied on to get anything done with the kind of meticulousness and care he expected from people he worked with. There was just _no fucking way_.

"You're sure he mentioned Eoreum?"

"Yes, I'm pretty sure. It was such an odd name. I mean who calls themselves Ice?" Kyungsoo scoffed and Jongin’s frown deepened.

"You're sure your friends were killed?"

"I couldn't see b-but I heard the gunshots. Like with a silencer so it wasn't deafening but it sounded like the bullets hit bodies and oh God! They're dead, Mister, they're fucking dead! I need to call the police; I need to—"

"STOP,” Jongin hissed, grabbing the front of the boy’s shirt, “You can't call the police. They'll be crawling all over this place, and they'll be knocking on all the doors asking questions. We can't stay here. Not anymore. We'll be the prime suspects." 

"But—" 

Knowing he'd be spending the next ten minutes packing his meagre belongings—even if the only thing that mattered to him was Mathilde—Jongin grabbed his phone and searched for the name _Henry D Case_.

"What do you need?" A chilly, businesslike voice enquired.

"Extraction. Now. The apartment across from me is hot."

"I'll send a team over." Minseok didn't ask for details—he never did when Jongin needed help. There was no time anyway.He hadn't mentioned it but Jongin knew the person leading the team would be Minseok's younger brother, Baekhyun. He wasn't an affectionate man, but Minseok took care of his own, and Jongin was definitely part of that select inner circle.

"Who's Henry D Case?" the boy said from behind him, taking Jongin by surprise. He was angry at himself. How could he have let a boy like this sneak up on him unawares? 

"No one important," he lied. The boy didn't need to know that Henry D Case was the name of the main protagonist in Minseok's favorite book. The only two people who knew this fact were Baekhyun and Jongin. The boy didn't know that in their industry, no one gave their true names. Names were a deadly currency for those who lived in the shadows. 

"It didn't sound like he wasn't somebody important."

"It's rude to sneak up on people." Jongin gave him a hard look.

"Why do you have a gun? Are you a killer?"

"You ask too many questions, kid."

"Don't call me ‘kid.’" the boy's eyes were piercing—intimidating for someone his age. He couldn't have been more than what? Twenty?

Frowning, Jongin looked through the peephole and saw. . .a man walking out of the apartment across the hall. Around 6' 2" with a distinct bow-legged gait. Big eyes, dark brown hair, prominent ears. Dressed in faded jeans, a plain white tee, black leather bomber jacket and a black snapback, he looked young and harmless. But knowing what he'd just done, Jongin didn't think he could realistically be in his early 20s and placed him more around his own age—28. . .29. . .maybe even 30. 

His face was boyish, almost innocent, but his eyes were anything but. There was no sign of the gun the kid had heard being fired, but the man did have one of the boy's scruffy roommates in a firm grip. One of the kids had survived then, Jongin noted dispassionately. The man's hostage looked terrified and cowed, beady eyes shifting around nervously, but he was quiet. He was very quiet and Jongin wasn't the least bit surprised because the boy was probably trying his hardest not to end up spread eagled on the floor of abandoned warehouse, hemorrhaging from multiple entry wounds. 

After shutting the door soundlessly with leather-gloved hands, the man looked around, surveying the surrounding area with eyes that were sharply alert. He was definitely older than he looked, and had shown himself to be capable of killing with calm efficiency. 

Not someone who should be underestimated, Jongin sighed, not by a longshot. When the man was satisfied there was no one in the vicinity, he pointed the boy in the direction of the stairs and they made their way along the corridor, looking for all the world like two dudes on the way out to grab some burgers or catch a movie or something equally innocuous. _Who would have guessed?_

"What do you see?" he heard from beside him, and Jongin looked over to see the boy fidgeting, still highly strung. Jongin hoped he could keep things together till they could evacuate the premises.

"One of them made it."

"What? What do you mean, Mister?"

"One of your friends isn't dead. He left with the killer. I don't know how long he'll stay alive but there's that at least.”

“Fuck. I. . .wasn’t expecting that,” the kid dragged his hand slowly over his face—painful relief spreading across his features. 

"We'll be leaving here soon,” Jongin snapped. “I need to get some things together. I need you to stay out of trouble in the meantime. Can I count on you to not do anything stupid?"

"Just gimme a light so I can calm down."

"If you can turn on the stove without blowing up the apartment, be my guest."

"I'm not a complete idiot."

"Stay away from the windows unless you plan on giving the killers a clear shot."

"I do have some brains, Mister."

"And don't smoke near my plant." There was a note of warning in Jongin's voice and the boy gave him an incredulous look.

"Are you fucking serious?"

"She doesn't like carbon monoxide. Or nicotine, so stay away from her, I mean it."

"Next thing you'll be telling me that plant has a name," the kid laughed, and Jongin shrugged, expressionless. "Oh my fucking God, it has a name doesn't it?!"

"Just stay away from it." Jongin walked to his bedroom to start on his packing. He'd already filled half of the nondescript black cabin bag with clothes—all in white, grey, tan, black, and navy. Invisible colors. Stuffing his toothbrush into the toiletry bag on his dressing table, Jongin threw it into the small suitcase. Everything he needed was always in the grey toiletry bag, just in case he needed to leave in a hurry from wherever he happened to be living at the time. 

The acrid odor of nicotine assaulted his nostrils and he looked up. When had he entered the bedroom? The boy could move so quietly. Just like he could. Distracted, he wondered if he'd be any good with a gun? 

"You never told me why you have a gun."

"Self defence." Jongin took the chrome hard case from a concealed compartment he'd had built into the closet when he'd first moved in here, shoved it into the suitcase and locked it—his fingertips moving the numbers on the combination. 

"I seriously doubt that gun is for self defence."

"You can think anything you bloody hell want, it's all the same to me."

"What's your name? I'm Kyungsoo—please call me that because if you call me kid one more time I swear I'll—"

"Fine, Kyungsoo."

"You didn't tell me your name though."

"Because it's not important."

"I can't call you Mister forever."

"Mister will do me just fine."

"I'm giving you a name then, if you won't tell me yours."

"You can call me whatever the hell you want."

"Maybe I’ll stick with Mister till you tell me your name."

 _I'm never telling you my real name_. The words rattled around in Jongin's head, never to be spoken.

Jongin hated being called Mister, but he needed the kid to stop asking questions because 1) he had no business knowing anything about Jongin and 2) he had to focus all his attention on getting them out of this shit hole alive. 

It was just after 3 p.m. Given the downtown traffic conditions at this time of day, he estimated Baekhyun and the cleaning crew would get here in approximately 10 minutes' time. He had to be ready.

"I need you to not touch anything from now onwards,“Jongin instructed, “flush that cigarette butt down the toilet and wipe the flush handle with toilet paper. Use the toilet before we go. Don't touch anything with your bare hands after."

"But i touched the stove and everything, and. . .other things," he admitted a little guiltily.

"The crew will go over the entire apartment but there's no need for us to be careless now."

"Crew? What crew? Like a cleaning crew? But what if the cops get here?"

"It's the middle of the afternoon. Everyone on this floor and the ground floor keeps office hours except you, your former roommates, and the old lady in 45B who's deaf as a post. You said the killer used a silencer, so chances are nobody heard anything. So we should be able to get out of here pretty easy." Jongin's voice was serious and his expression neutral, but he didn't miss the way Kyungsoo flinched at his use of the words "former roommates". 

Poor kid, he found himself thinking and just as soon as he thought it, he heard Minseok's firm quiet words: _Don't get involved. Don't get close to people, and above all, do not get emotionally attached. It's a weakness and people like us can't be weak._ No, Minseok definitely would not approve of Jongin feeling sorry for the neighbor kid.

"Where are we going and who's this 'crew' that's coming to get us?" Kyungsoo frowned, the afternoon sunlight setting his thick red hair ablaze in a way that made his skin look even paler than it normally did.

"No more questions. Just do as I say. Move fast and be alert. If you want to get out of here alive, just listen and follow my instructions."

"But—"

"You're done with that cigarette. Go flush it down the toilet now and don't leave fingerprints anywhere," Jongin ordered before walking out of the bedroom—his footsteps moving silently over the hardwood flooring the way he'd been taught to when he was 12. As he did a meticulous once-over of the apartment for any personal belongings he might have overlooked, he kept an ear out for the staccato double-rap on his door which would signify the arrival of Minseok's cleaning crew.

"What do I do now?" the boy—no, Kyungsoo asked. His name was Kyungsoo, Jongin reminded himself. It would take some getting used to. He'd been "the boy" or “the kid” all these months. It didn't help that Jongin wasn't one for names—not for using them or remembering them.

"Just sit down. They should be here soon and then things will move really fast. Don't ask any questions—just do as we say," Jongin said mechanically as he placed his guitar-shaped carrying case and his duffle bag by the door. The plain, black gym bag looked a lot less obtrusive than a suitcase and Jongin only used proper luggage when he had to take a flight—not any other time because blending in was always paramount.

There was a rustling of leather as the boy settled himself on the edge of the gray sofa. He looked lost as he sat there. His skin was pale and the shadows beneath his eyes were like magenta-colored bruises in the filtered light of the apartment. Even the red hair which had looked so vibrant in the afternoon sun seemed to have taken on a dull sheen. More than anything else though, was how vacant Kyungsoo's eyes looked. A hollowed out shell, that was what he looked like, and it worried Jongin.

It shouldn’t worry Jongin.

"Were you close?" The words were coming out of his mouth before Jongin could stop them. He quickly looked the other way to pretend he’d said nothing. He didn't do this. . .conversation thing. Maybe a little with Baekhyun and Minseok, but everyone else in their organization was pure business—orders, requests for updates, troubleshooting. Conversation was never on the agenda for Jongin so he could not even begin to comprehend what he was currently attempting to do.

"What?"

"You and the boy who didn't make it, were you close?"

"Close? If you mean did we tell each other everything and ask each other for advice? Nah. But we've pretty much been roommates since we were 18. I'm 23 now so that's. . .yeah. It'll take me a while to be truly okay. But I will be."

"Good," Jongin said awkwardly, feeling like he'd pretty much exhausted the entirety of his conversational skills.

"Can we go see him?" Kyungsoo wrapped a hand around his nape, his eyes closing like it hurt to breathe.

"No. It wouldn't be safe. They'll probably have people watching the apartment and chances are they know what you look like and they know you were sitting in front of the building this afternoon. My crew will bring some shit for us to change into, so that when we leave here, we won't look so much like ourselves."

"Are they gonna shave my hair off or dye it black or something?"

"You've watched too many movies, kid." A half smile tugged at Jongin's lips.

"My name is Kyungsoo."

"You've watched too many movies, Kyungsoo," he repeated and Kyungsoo fixed him with a look which reeked of are-you-trying-to-be-funny?

"But how do we disguise ourselves then? My hair is. . .kind of loud. What if they pick me off the street? Like shoot me from a building across the street because my hair is like some kind of fucking red _bullseye_?"

"They'll give us beanies and face masks. Clothes that don't stand out. We'll just be moving from here to the basement anyway. It'll be okay."

"I don't wanna die, Mister. I don't wanna be Jaehee."

"You won't," Jongin tried to reassure him even if he didn't completely believe it himself. _Why do I even care?_

"You don't believe that for a second," Kyungsoo shook his head dejectedly before getting up to walk over to the window. Pulling aside the dove gray curtain, Kyungsoo peered curiously through the glass. "Hey Mister, there's a naked man across the road." 

"Get away from the window," Jongin hissed, "You might as well be painting a target on your forehead."

"But there's a naked man across the road?"

"There's always a naked man across the road."

"What?!"

"Deal with it. He's not moving anywhere anytime soon. Now get the hell away from that window, Kyungsoo," Jongin grabbed Kyungsoo’s wrist, drawing him back a couple steps. Kyungsoo stumbled, grabbing at Jongin’s shoulder for balance. Their eyes met and Jongin’s heartbeat was suddenly very loud in his ears.

Then, the tension dissolved as two sharp, intrusive raps on the door demanded Jongin’s attention.

♦

"How many casualties?" The man with dark brown hair and heart-shaped face asked as he handed a small bundle of fabric to Ahjussi. Kyungsoo hoped the infuriating man would just tell him his name soon because he was so fed up of calling him Neighbour Guy, Ahjussi, Mister, Possible Serial Killer Dude, (Tall Dark and Handsome), UGH. _Just tell me your goddamn name, for the love of fuck_.

"One most likely, but I can't be sure because it happened behind closed doors. The kid heard gunshots. and He has two roommates but only one of them left with the killer."

"Do we know them? Male or female?" The newcomer had an animated face and was about as different from Ahjussi as you could get. He was all pointed chin and soft jaw while Ahjussi had a cleft and a square jaw that made Kyungsoo think of unyielding concrete—only 6000 times more attractive. Milky white skin vs pale hazelnut skin. Narrow shoulders vs intimidatingly broad ones. A comforting 5' 8" vs an imposing 6' tall. He wondered if the stranger would be as secretive about his name as Ahjussi was.

"Male. 6 foot 2. Around 28 to 30 years of age. Hair color is. . .exactly like yours. Bow-legged. Big ears. Kyungsoo, do you have anything to add? The more details we have about the killer the better our chances of identifying him."

"His voice. He has a very deep voice—kinda like a baritone?"

"Anything else?"

"Just what I told you earlier, that he thought my roommates killed some dude called Changmin and that they were hired by someone called Eoreum."

"Eoreum?!" the man's eyebrows were practically climbing up his forehead, that was how surprised and dismayed he actually looked. His reaction was so different from Jongin's calm, raised single eyebrow.

"I know. I don't understand either. Did you know about Shim Changmin's death? I wasn't informed."

"It's the first I've heard of it but maybe _he_ heard and just hasn't gotten round to telling us yet. I wouldn't put it past him. You know how he is about need to know basis," the man grimaced.

"Yeah, I do know. You update him on what went down while I change, ok?" Ahjussi instructed the other man before turning to briefly watch the two men hard at work. Dressed in gray overalls and black snapbacks, they'd been wiping down all the surfaces in the apartment with an obnoxious smelling liquid which made the apartment smell like swimming pool. It had to be some kind of bleach?

"What the hell is going on?" The stranger ahjussi muttered as he held his phone at his ear, and Kyungsoo wondered if he was calling Henry D Case too. 

_Whoever the hell that is._

♦

"You okay?" Jongin turned to look at the kid sitting beside him.

"It's so clichéd to say this, Ahjussi, but I've had better days."

"Yeah. I'm sure you have," Jongin nodded soberly. What else could he say? The kid's roommate just died and it wasn't like Jongin had ever been any good with words.

"Where are we going?" he pulled at Jongin's jacket sleeve.

"Somewhere outside the city. Somewhere safe." 

"What if they find us?"

"Of course there's always the chance that they might have been watching your apartment and might have seen us. But there's also always the chance they saw us and didn't realize it was us. Either way, we had to get out of there and fast."

"What will happen to Jaehee?" The boy's voice broke up a little as he said his roommate's name but he showed no other sign that he was disturbed by the afternoon's traumatic events.

"My guess is the killer would have called for a cleaning crew to dispose of the body and get rid of blood stains, fingerprints etcetera. They won't want the neighbors or the cops snooping around. I mean people will eventually figure out that all three of you are gone. You all had jobs and rent money is due in a few days so people _will_ investigate the apartment. Eventually." Jongin explained the situation matter-of-factly—telling himself he didn't feel bad when Kyungsoo blanched visibly at his use of the word 'blood'.

"So he's a professional killer like you then?"

"Who the fuck says I am?" Jongin glared at Kyungsoo and Baekhyun snorted from his corner of the van.

"Dude, you couldn't be more obvious with your twin handguns and your cleaning crew and your sidekick," Kyungsoo raised a judging eyebrow.

"I'd like it put on record that I resent being designated as his _sidekick_.?" Baekhyun looked way too amused by the whole exchange. He needed taking down a peg or two.

"Boss then," Kyungsoo rolled his eyes. That sass was going to get him killed one day. "Also, you need a better name than _Dirtbusters_ for fuck's sake."

"The dumber the name, the less attention it attracts," Baekhyun announced sagely, and Kyungsoo snorted in response.

"Not if it's so dumb it attracts attention because people wouldn't believe that anyone would pick a name that freaking dumb for a business."

Jongin had to smile a little at how logical he had made it sound. Looking through the rectangle of glass between the driver's cabin and the back of the van—Jongin glimpsed the two men dressed in dark gray overalls and snapbacks. He wondered if Jinki and Minho had cringed at the name painted across the sides of the van: _Dirtbusters_. The name changed with every job but this one was pretty lame as Kyungsoo had pointed out. Did Jinki and Minho find it lame too? It suddenly struck Jongin that he'd been working alongside the two men for the past five years and he knew next to nothing about them other than that they were good at what they did, and that he trusted them implicitly to get him safely to jobs and safely out of them.

"Will all of us be hiding out there? The place we're going, I mean?"

"Just us two," Jongin answered, eyes trained on the matte black leather of his shoes. The surface was scuffed from years of wear and tear but Jongin continued to wear them because 1) they were comfortable to walk and run in; and 2) they were so plain and unremarkable that no one would give them a second look let alone be able to describe them. 

_Blend in with your surroundings. Don't stand out. Standing out gets you killed._

"Why?"

"You ask too many damned questions."

'Questions are good. That's how you learn." Baekhyun piped up encouragingly. "You really only need this guy to keep you alive. The rest of us would just be window dressing anyway. "

"Stop exaggerating for fuck's sake; and there's no need to give him a sales pitch. He's not going to hire me," Jongin glared at Baekhyun. To be honest, he just glared at his closest friend a lot because Baekhyun lived to aggravate him (he had also spent the last sixteen years looking out for Jongin but that was another story). It was lucky they got along so well or he'd probably have strangled the man by now,.

"What if I wanted to hire you?"

"You can't afford me," Jongin answered, deadpan. 

"It's true, kid. You can't," Baekhyun nodded in agreement.

"How much?"

"Twenty grand per hit," Baekhyun supplied when Jongin failed to reply.

"Stop answering his questions. He'll just ask more," Jongin glared. "And like I said, you can't afford me."

"Fuck off," Kyungsoo gave him the finger, and Baekhyun burst into laughter—clearly entertained by the fact that this kid wasn't remotely intimidated by Jongin. Then there was no more time for talking as the nose of the black Sprinter van dipped into the basement carpark of a shopping mall.

"I thought we were leaving the city."

"We are. Too many questions," Jongin sighed as they descended further into the bowels of building. And then the van was stopping and they were quickly exiting the black van and climbing into a black four-door sedan. A boring Toyota family car that would vanish unnoticed in any suburb in the country. It was sometimes dull having so much boring black in his life but it was a sensible color and it kept him alive for the most part, so Jongin could bear to tolerate the monochromatic nature of his everyday existence.

"Black again?" Kyungsoo wondered aloud.

"You get used to it," Jongin said, shutting the front passenger door as Kyungsoo settled himself in the back.

"Are we trying to shake people off our tail by switching cars?" For the first time since the kid had crashed into his apartment and disrupted his life, Kyungsoo actually sounded almost excited. It was .a relief to him. Why did he even care?

_Odd._

"Yes," Baekhyun grinned as he stepped on the accelerator and the car shot smoothly forward.


	2. Safe House

**THE SAFE HOUSE**

Approximately three hundred indistinguishable trees later (seriously, he was a city kid and to be honest, one tree looked the same as any other fucking tree), the car slowed down and pulled into the driveway of a single-storey bungalow in a sedate suburb. The house was right at the end of the street, and was painted a nondescript kind of eggshell white. 

There was nothing but closely clipped lawn flanking the driveway—no sign of flowers or shrubs or anything. Nothing but grass and Kyungsoo wondered if that was on purpose. He decided it probably wasn't a coincidence either that there were only four or five small windows on the front of the house. Would it be melodramatic to assume the glass was bulletproof? What did bulletproof glass look like anyway? Did it look different from normal glass?

"Are the windows made of bulletproof glass?" he finally asked as they drove into the garage—the descent of the off-white roller door disturbingly loud to Kyungsoo's ears. He'd not heard that sound since he was an apathetic teenager living with apathetic foster parents.

"Don't you ever run out of questions?" Ahjussi shook his head in disbelief and Stranger Ahjussi laughed goodnaturedly before replying, _yes kid, they are_. 

"I like to know things. Is that a crime?" 

Kyungsoo waited but his neighbor didn't answer and he sighed. Ahjussi was a very quiet man. It was a good thing Kyungsoo had always thrived on challenges. He wondered if he was quiet in bed and what kind of sounds he made when he came. Did he make any sounds at all? All too soon, Kyungsoo regretted letting his thoughts wander in that direction as his cock began to stir. _Oh for fuck’s sake_ , he admonished himself as he tried to rein in his body's responses.

♦

_Charcoal gray sofa set. Black leather and wood dining set. Pebble gray wallpaper. Glossy black granite flooring._

Kyungsoo was sensing a theme as he scanned the interior of the house, and color was not it. It was almost as monochromatic and uninspiring as Ahjussi's apartment—only much classier. He wondered if there was so much black because it would be easier to clean blood stains off black than some lighter shade. _Probably_ , he thought, giving an involuntary shiver.

"You can use my room, kid. Help yourself to the clothes in the closet and drawers. You're around my size so they should be a pretty good fit. There are spare toothbrushes and toothpaste in the bathroom cabinet and disposable shavers too," Stranger Ahjussi informed him kindly. He was so much friendlier than Kyungsoo's neighbor, so much more approachable. And yet, Kyungsoo wasn't drawn to this man the way he'd been drawn to the tall, brooding man in the other room for three months now.

"Thanks. Um, mister?" Kyungsoo asked, his voice hesitant.

"Yeah?" the man asked, his hand poised on the brass doorknob.

"My roommate Youngsoo? The one who left with the killer? Will he be okay?" His fingers plucked at the edges of his jeans pockets.

"I wish I could say yes? But I don't know anything about the person who took him so I have no idea how he works. For what it's worth, I really hope he's okay. Now get some rest. I have to leave right away but he'll get you something to eat later."

Kyungsoo nodded and then he was gone. Numb from everything that had unfolded in the past few hours, he looked around the room—taking in the subtle shades of wine and tan. He should be relieved, he supposed. At least it wasn't goddamn black again.

♦

After he’d gotten tangled in his bedsheets for the eighth time, Kyungsoo gave up trying to drown the screams and slid out of bed. His footsteps were muted on the wood flooring as he made his way across the corridor. It was funny how they’d ended up opposite each other again—just like they had in their old apartment building. Briefly, he stood in front of the Neighbor Guy’s door, mired in indecision over whether to disturb him or not. What if he pulled a gun on him? But the man looked like someone with excellent reflexes and Kyungsoo was pretty damned sure he wouldn’t end up with a bullet between his eyes. Either way, he was getting nowhere sleeping in his own bed. And it didn't help that he was usually awake at this time, chugging coffee and ringing up purchases for late night stragglers. He'd be lucky if he got any fucking sleep at all, to be honest—the way things were going. Lips set in a determined line, Kyungsoo knocked on his neighbor's door. The way he looked at it, even fifteen minutes' sleep in Ahjussi's room would be better than getting none in his own room.

♦

All he could see through the peephole was Kyungsoo standing alone in the lit hallway and Jongin exhaled in relief, drawing his gun. For the second time that day, he stood in a doorway, confronted with the boy with red hair and mysterious designs etched into his skin. He really needed to stop making a habit of this, Jesus.

"Why aren't you asleep?" Jongin rubbed the exhaustion from his eyes—almost alert already because he had to always be ready for both flight and fight. As his eyes finally settled on Kyungsoo, he realized he looked. . .different from how he usually did. It was his hair. It was straight and floppy after his shower and that seemed to blunt the sharp edges of Kyungsoo's demeanor. He was used to seeing it gelled into gravity defying flamboyant spikes of red, but tonight, tonight it just looked soft and straight.

"I can't. I keep hearing their screams and the gunshots and my eyes…my eyes—they won't close. Every time they close I see Jaehee being shot and it’s just stupid because I couldn’t even see anything but wood. . .couldn’t see anything but the fucking door so why is this so hard? Why can’t I sleep? Why won’t the screaming stop?”

“It just happened. Give yourself some time.”

“Time? Who needs time? I just need to fucking sleep.”

“And you will,” Jongin wasn’t much for smiling but he tried to give him the semblance of a reassuring smile.

“Can I—?”

“Hmmm?”

“Can I stay here?”

“What?” Jongin was fully awake now, “What the hell for?”

“Because I’ve been trying to sleep on my own for two hours and it’s not fucking working!”

“I don’t see how sleeping here is going to help?”

“I just need to hear someone breathing nearby. I need to hear someone not being killed and someone not dying; I just. . .I need to not be alone. Please.” There was so much defeat in Kyungsoo’s eyes. So much desolation. Sighing, Jongin finally stepped aside so he was no longer blocking the doorway and Kyungsoo stepped into the cool, dark spaces of his room.

"You dropped your pillow," Kyungsoo bent down to pick the dark shape from off the ground, a few inches to the left of the bed, and dropped it on the mattress. Jongin didn't bother to explain why it had been on the floor. It wasn't something he spoke to anyone about, although Baekhyun had discovered it all on his own a few years back. But one thing was certain, the wouldn't be sharing details about his sleeping habits with a kid he'd never even held a proper conversation with before today.

"Which side is yours? I'll take the other side from that."

"It doesn't matter." His answer was abrupt and dismissive.

"Funny how this bed looks like it's not been slept in," Kyungsoo commented as he sat down on the mattress and Jongin shrugged—not inclined to provide him with any answers.

"Just go to sleep, Kyungsoo," he grunted as he lay down on his ‘so-called side’ of the mattress. The bed dipped slightly as Kyungsoo stretched his limbs out and let his compact body sink into the surface of the spring mattress. Jongin refused to look at him even though the temptation was strong.

♦

Kyungsoo wasn't sure what woke him—maybe the room was too cool or maybe too cold. But either way, he found himself awake. The breathing noises made him feel safe and he turned to so he could see his neighbor. It was dark in the room but he would be able to make out the curves and edges of the man who had saved him from the killers.

 _I wish I knew your name_ , Kyungsoo thought as he turned to look at him—hoping he could make out his face. But the space next to him was empty and there was no face to squint at in the dark, no smooth contours of tall elegant body to explore with his eyes. There was nothing but grey, moonlit cotton sheet beside him. His neighbor—why wouldn't the fucker tell him his name?—was nowhere to be found but Kyungsoo could hear it, the breathing. It wasn't a snore and it wasn't loud but there was definitely someone sleeping in this room. Slowly, he slid his body across to the other side and fingers gripping the edge of the mattress, he peered down. 

The Ahjussi was lying on the ground—nothing but a thin blanket keeping him from the chill, nothing but a pillow keeping his cheek from the cold hard floor. Stray beams of moonlight had stolen through the pale curtains, casting a ghostly light on the man's angular jaw and high cheekbones. In sleep, he looked so much softer—his lips full and. . .vulnerable somehow. Kyungsoo had watched him for months now and his neighbor had never looked like he could harbor such a weak, frail thing as human emotion. But in sleep, he looked just as defenseless as the next person. And beautiful. He looked so beautiful when he wasn't being cold and stern and in control.

Something tripped and tangled in his heart as he watched the man sleep. Why did he sleep on the floor? Kyungsoo had found it odd that the bedsheets hadn't looked slept in and that there had been a pillow on the floor but he'd been too exhausted to investigate. Seized by a tightness in his chest he couldn't explain, Kyungsoo reached his hand out and _almost _touched perfect skin. _Almost_. . .but he lost his nerve and fingers gently combed the strands of midnight hair falling over his forehead instead.__

The sleeping man shifted, eyelids trembling like he might awaken and Kyungsoo withdrew his hand quickly—moving back to his side of the bed. He waited, eyes half closed, for him to stand up. He was always on full alert. Kyungsoo had only little more than twelve hours with him and he already knew this to be true. He waited but there was no more movement from the other side of the room. Exhaling in relief that he hadn't been found out, Kyungsoo lay there for a while longer, staring up at the ceiling—dappled in shadows and moonbeams. He stared at pretty shadow play but all he saw was the beautiful man sleeping a few feet away from.

_Why do you sleep on the floor, Mister?_

Kyungsoo would ask him in the morning because he didn't believe in keeping things inside. They festered that way and he wasn't about that life. He needed to know the answer to the question but he also needed to sleep. Unable to resist, he took one last look at his neighbor and tried to ignore the subtle twisting in his chest. As he let the rhythm of the other man's breathing take him over, his sleep-heavy eyelids began to droop—his limbs dissolving into the mattress. When he finally surrendered to sleep, the last thing he saw wasn't an imagined scene featuring the blood-drenched corpses of his friends, it was the image of his handsome neighbor sleeping on the floor just a few feet away.

____

♦

Somewhere after his first cup of coffee, the question came.

"Why do you sleep on the floor?" 

 

"Why do you ask so many questions?" His spoon cleaved into the smooth vanilla surface of the Greek yogurt, making a small chink as the steel hit the bottom of the glass mason jar. The safe house was always mysteriously stocked with food even though it wasn't occupied very often. He'd never questioned it but that was the whole point, he supposed, to have enough food in the house so you could stay out of sight. Leaving the house to get food was definitely a high risk activity to be avoided at all costs. Anyway, Jongin could cook some simple dishes so they wouldn’t starve. Minseok had hired someone to come and teach him when he was 16. 

_Be self-sufficient. Rely on no one to get things done. People are weak links. You can't depend on them._

"I can't stand not knowing things," Kyungsoo brought the spoon to his mouth—eyes trained intensely on him. He tried not to notice the way the boy's plump lips fit over the spoon. 

 

 _Always watch people's hands in case they're packing. Your hands need to be ready to access your own weapon at all times. Always watch their eyes because sometimes they give something away._

Rinse, repeat, rinse, repeat. Yet both Jongin's Berettas and the double holster he usually wore lay on the bedside table and he'd been distracted by the boy's mouth when he should have been watching his hands and his eyes instead. He was slipping. Badly. Minseok would not be impressed.

“You’ll just have to stand not knowing things.”

“Is it because you have a bad back?

“No.”

“Is it because some killer dude would shoot the bed right away when they walk in?” 

“Yes,” Jongin agreed because 1) it wasn’t untrue and 2) he hoped Kyungsoo would be happy with that answer and just move on.

“I don’t think you’re telling me everything but okay,” he drank some of the black coffee Jongin had made earlier. “How long will we have to stay here?” 

“A week? A month? They’re watching the apartment building for any weird activity. And it depends on how much media crazy this thing generates. Like if your friends’ family members make a fuss, we’d have to stay out of sight for a long time. Maybe move upstate. It’s hard to tell.”

“No family. None of us have any family that cares. We were fostered out to people who just wanted the cheques y’know? So as soon as we were 18 and had jobs that weren’t completely shitty, we were outta there.”

 _No family_. Jongin knew all about that and yet Minseok and Baekhyun were a little bit like family to him, he supposed.

"Why do you have a gun? And I saw that long case you took out of your closet. There's a sniper rifle in that, isn't there? I've seen shit like that in movies and on the Internet."

"Too many fucking questions," Jongin shook his head as he finished his yogurt.

"So you're like a hitman or something?"

"I'm not answering that."

“Teach me how to do what you do. Be a hit man. I need a job anyway.”

"I didn't say I was a hit man."

"Please, all things considered, I don't see how it's possible for you to _not_ be a hit man. But seriously, teach me. I mean I didn't show up for work today so I've totally lost my job. I need to eat and find a place to stay so I need a job, right? It might as well be killing people."

"YOU CAN'T BE A HIT MAN." Jongin's voice was devoid of all humor.

"WHY THE HELL NOT?"

"For one, your tattoos."

"That's discrimination. Are you saying people with tattoos are incompetent?"

"I never said anything about you being incompetent. I'm just pointing out that a contract killer needs to be invisible—his life depends on it. Your red hair, your sleeve tattoos and your piercings are the epitome of VISIBLE. Identifying marks are dangerous, Kyungsoo. If any witnesses remember seeing you, they'll have plenty of visual details to give the cops. You can't be a hit man."

Kyungsoo looked like he was mulling over everything Jongin had just said—taking it, measuring it, examining it, holding it up to the light.

"What if I get the tattoos removed? Stop wearing piercings? Dye my hair black?"

“That would help but then there’s the smoking.”

"What the hell is with you and smoking?!"

"Cigarette butts are like DNA souvenirs for cops and CSIs. Saliva, maybe even partial fingerprints. You can't afford to leave pieces of yourself around. You have to be a ghost."

"Well, you aren't a ghost to me. I've always noticed you."

"Hardly anyone in the building has even seen me."

"I have. Your hair is dark brown bordering on black. Your eyes are brown and you always keep your head down like you hope no one will notice you. You always wear coats and your clothes are always black or gray or navy blue or white. Why is that? Is that part of the being a ghost thing?"

"I said a hit man has to be a ghost—I never said I was a hit man," Jongin reiterated and Kyungsoo responded by giving him an extremely judging look.

"Try telling that to someone who might actually believe you, Mister."

Jongin sighed in resignation. He was going to be stuck with the kid for a while and he really didn't want him asking the same questions every day, and he could already tell that the boy was persistent. . .relentless, actually. Also, he couldn’t help feeling a certain sense of admiration for the amount of detail he’d managed to observe and pick up about Jongin in spite of the fact that he went to so much trouble to make sure people didn’t notice him at all.

"Yeah, wearing dull colors that blend in with your surroundings kinda make you stand out less. People tend to overlook you."

"You're a bit too tall to be easily overlooked by anyone to be honest. Is that why you're always looking at the ground?"

A bubble of hysterical laughter threatened to escape and Jongin only just managed to hold it back. He might as well have walked around in Hawaiian shirts and fluorescent colored board shorts and Kyungsoo wouldn't have noticed him less. The boy's powers of observation were really something.

"Yeah, the less people see of your face the better."

"I like your face."

"I—that's not relevant."

"It is to me," and there was an intensity to the way Kyungsoo said it that made Jongin's stomach drop a little. 

"Anyway, being invisible is important," Jongin said awkwardly.

"So is that a yes?" Kyungsoo watched him curiously as he took a bite of buttered toast slathered in raspberry jam.

"Yes to what?"

"Yes you're going to teach me to be a hitman?"

"No!"

"Come on, Mister. I lost my job and I can't go back to my old life. I need a line. You gotta help me."

"No. This isn't a life anyone wants or needs," Jongin stood up, the chair legs scraping against the floor and it's loud—like metal screeching against his nerves.

"I just need some kind of life at this point, Mister. If I try to go back, I'll be arrested or whoever killed my friend will come back for me and THERE IS NOTHING ELSE FOR ME. I need a line. Please." He wasn't begging but there were traces of defeat in the boy's voice; that was something Jongin hadn't expected and something he couldn't quite ignore. 

"It's not a life I want for anyone," Jongin said quietly.

"You're living it."

"I don't know anything else. You don't want this."

"I do. And I'm going to get that asshole who killed Jaehee."

"You say that like you think you can take someone's life." Bitterness stained his voice but he was powerless to do anything about hiding it.

"I fucking know I can," Kyungsoo insisted—eyes afire with a passion Jongin had never seen or experienced. He wondered sometimes if he was even capable of even the smallest amounts of passion. 

"Don't." Covering his face with his hands, Jongin let out an exhausted sigh.

"You can't stop me so the least you can do is teach me how to do it well so I don't get myself killed," Kyungsoo gripped his forearm with a kind of strange urgency and Jongin already knew he was going to regret everything that was about to happen. 

"Fine."

"Will you tell me your name now?" His hand felt like a brand on Jongin's arm as he held on tight.

"No."

"You'll tell me one day."

"I won't."

"I can wait," he finally released his grip on Jongin's arm and Jongin told himself he didn't miss the contact.

♦

They'd spent the day going through basics. Bits and pieces of theories like how to make yourself invisible and how to avoid forming ties with people outside. And as Jongin taught him things, Kyungsoo asked him things. Some questions were related to the mechanics of being a hitman and others were just questions that probed at the core of Jongin. He tried to deflect those as much as possible but the boy was tenacious—not in an obnoxious way but if he saw an opening, he went for it.

"What are your clients like?"

"I don't know. I never see or deal directly with them. Everything is done online and contracts are assigned to me. I get to decide whether I'll take them but that's all."

"What kind of people do you kill?"

"No women, no children—that's non-negotiable. And we only take on targets that, I don't know, deserve to be taken down."

"What kind of people do you mean?"

"Arms dealers, mobsters, drug dealers. Scum. We don't do innocent lives. That's non-negotiable too."

"So what you do is a good thing then? You're killing people the world is better off without."

Jongin stayed mum at that.

"You're helping innocent people by killing scum so it's good right, Mister?"

"Look, there's nothing _good_ about killing anyone. I think we've done enough for today."

Kyungsoo called out _Mister_ in an attempt to stop him but it was too late, Jongin had already left the room. The half-empty coffee cup was the only sign he’d even been in the room. 

Kyungsoo swore, fists clenched in frustration.

♦

Dinner had been a solemn affair with Jongin saying barely a word despite Kyungsoo’s efforts to draw him into conversation. The tension in the air had been so suffocating that Kyungsoo had been almost relieved when Ahjussi excused himself to answer a call. Kyungsoo generally preferred to meet confrontations head on, but he knew he’d been unforgivably flippant that afternoon. He'd offended the other man—deeply, it seemed. In his defence, he hadn’t expected someone who killed for a living to be bothered by death at all.

But he was finding out more and more that there was a hella lot more to neighbor Ahjussi than met the eye. What secrets did he harbor? What was his name? Why did someone who wouldn’t reveal his own name even think of giving his plant a name? As he stacked the dirty dishes in the sink and reached for the soap-soaked sponge, he continued to ponder the conundrum that was his neighbor. 

He'd never been known for his charm or sweet talking ways but this was technically the first time Kyungsoo had ever said something bad enough to make the other person vacate the room. 

_Way to go, Do Kyungsoo. Way to go _, he shook his head as he rinsed vermilion-colored sauce off large white dishes. Ahjussi had made some fancy sounding pasta sauce to go with the spaghetti. He'd called it puttanesca or something like that. To Kyungsoo it basically looked liked tomatoes, olives, garlic and anchovies—fancy name or whatever. There were also some weird green pod-like gourmet thingies in the sauce that he'd never eaten before tonight. He'd asked Ahjussi what they were called and he'd said capers. Salty as fuck but he'd probably eat them again.__

__He'd have complained loudly and bitterly about the glaring lack of meat in the dish if he hadn't been feeling so guilty for upsetting him earlier. But as things panned out, they'd eaten their pasta in almost complete silence._ _

__He hoped tomorrow would be a better day._ _

____

♦

_Jaehee's body twisted in slow motion as the bullet penetrated the flesh of his back—tearing muscle and scarring bone. Gun smoke curled and bloomed, dissipating in the air as Jaehee dropped to the ground in a bleeding, lifeless heap. The stranger was faceless, but the baritone voice seared through Kyungsoo's consciousness._

_"What are you doing?!" the stranger shouted, the words echoing and accordioning as Kyungsoo took aim and pulled the trigger. He could see the bullet as it knifed clean through the air and found its target. He'd expected to feel triumph at shooting the killer, at avenging his friend's death, but all he felt was horror as the smell of iron clung to the air and wine-colored blood blossomed on pale, featureless skin. And the only sound he could hear was that of his own voice yelling through air that was thick as molasses, _noooooooooooo_ over and over again. . ._

"Nooooo!" he screamed himself awake to find hands gripping his shoulders in the darkness.

"You're alright , Kyungsoo. You're in the safe house—there's no one here but me and I won't hurt you, I promise," the voice is husky and calming, like hot chocolate and marshmallows on nights when you can't sleep.

"I keep seeing it. All that fucking blood. So red and I can't get away from it. . .I can't hide no matter how hard I try," Kyungsoo said, his voice broken up by gulping breaths.

"It will get better. You just need to get past the flashbacks and you'll be okay. It will be better soon."

"I can't—every time I close my eyes I see them. I can't sleep. . .I mean I feel like I haven't slept all night," 

"Did it help to sleep in my room last night? Did you have bad dreams? I'm a light sleeper and I didn't hear anything but I don't know—maybe I missed something?" Ahjussi sat on the bed, removing his hands from Kyungsoo's shoulders and Kyungsoo was glad that it was so dark in the room that he couldn't see the other man's face clearly. He knew very well how handsome he was but it helped to not be confronted with it right now when he was feeling so vulnerable.

"No dreams. I just slept. It helped I think to have someone else in the room."

"Do you. . .would you prefer to sleep in my room?" If there was a scale of 1 to 10 for awkward, Kyungsoo suspected his neighbor would be sitting on around 8. But he didn't care how anguished the other man felt now, he just wanted to have dreamless oblivion like he'd had last last night. And he wasn't afraid to admit he just wanted to be in the same room as him and to listen to him sleep nearby.

"Yes. Please." Ignoring all caution, he reached out and wrapped his fingers around a lean, strongly muscled arm, "Please, Mister."

"Jongin." The word was so softly uttered that Kyungsoo almost missed it.

"Your name is Jongin?"

"Don't call me that in front of anyone else. They won't be happy to know I've told you even that much. Or that I'm teaching you things."

"I won't say anything. I swear."

"I'm already regretting this, kid." And Jongin stood up quietly and walked over to the door. For once, Kyungsoo didn't feel upset that he'd called him _kid_.

♦

"Why the floor?"

Jongin sighed inwardly at the question because it wasn't one he wanted to answer. Ever, to be honest. But he finally settled for, "It doesn't matter why."

"The bed is so much more comfortable. Why would you choose the floor?"

"Go to bed, Kyungsoo." He knew it had been a risk heading straight for the floor but he was tired and he didn't want to fall asleep on the mattress for real. It had been a hassle the night before—having to drag his sorry ass out of bed and onto the floor _after_ the kid had fallen asleep. Aside from which, the boy had already figured out that he slept on the floor so trying to pretend he didn't just seemed stupid right now.

"Is it some Spartan regime where you sleep on the floor to I dunno, get tougher and have better self discipline?"

"Something like that," Jongin answered quickly; Kyungsoo didn't have to know more than that.

"I wish you'd sleep on your mattress though," Kyungsoo's voice sounded almost wistful, "I can't imagine what it's like to sleep on the floor on winter."

"It's nothing much." 

"Mister—I mean Jongin?"

"Yes?"

"Maybe could I try sleeping on the floor too?"

"No. You stay there." He tried to make his voice as firm as possible and he didn't quite know why he was even bothering because the boy wasn't real good at following instructions anyway,

"But—"

"Goodnight, Kyungsoo."

"Goodnight, Jongin."

♦

When Ahjussi, no, Jongin. . .his name was Jongin. And then Kyungsoo had to pause and let it all sink in—the fact that the man had finally told him his name even though it was obviously some kind of well-guarded secret. _Jongin_ , he let the syllables roll around in his mouth and head. He wouldn’t ever have to think of him as Ahjussi, Mister or Neighbor Guy because he had somehow earned his trust. It made him feel warm all over and when Jongin's breathing patterns had slowed down to a regular cadence, Kyungsoo slid over to the edge of the bed and peered down. He could just see the outline of Jongin's sleeping figure, could just see the rise and fall of his chest. He would likely get scolded the next day but he didn't care. This was worth it.

Grabbing his pillow and blanket, he settled himself down beside Jongin—their bodies parallel and slightly curled up in the darkness. They weren't touching but already, Kyungsoo felt better.

_Goodnight, Jongin._

♦

There was a warm weight against his back he'd not experienced in half a lifetime—not since he and Baekhyun were fourteen and twelve, huddled against each other in bed when Jongin still suffered from nightmares. That was at the beginning, when he'd first moved in with the quiet man who'd saved him. It was when he'd still been haunted by uneasy dreams and outright nightmares—blood-soaked montages of his parents being knifed by masked muggers for not having more than seventy bucks on them. If his father hadn't been quick enough to shove him behind that dumpster in the alley. If Minseok hadn't been walking through the area and heard his muffled sobs. If Minseok hadn't overlooked his credo to not get involved in the affairs of others. If Minseok hadn't taken pity on him and taken him. If Baekhyun hadn't been the closest thing to a friend and brother he'd ever had. . .he didn't want to think about the ifs. He was just grateful.

Jongin's instincts were nudging and poking at him, telling him to get into fight position but for once he didn't give a shit what they were saying and muted them completely. All he had to do was shift the slightest fraction of an inch and the contact would be broken but the truth was that it was the last thing he wanted. Jongin didn't want to move because 1) the contact gave him a kind of aching comfort he couldn't even describe and 2) if the boy had really wanted to harm him he could have done it any time in the last few hours as he'd slept.

He'd fallen asleep almost immediately, which in itself was strange enough because Jongin always struggled with that part of the day. That was the time when the world was quiet and dark and when the guilt rose up, crawling over and smothering him in thick, suffocating waves. Every life he'd ever taken—no matter how many lives he saved as a result—was still a life taken no matter how he looked at it and tried to justify it. Even keeping just enough of his hit earnings to get by and giving away the rest did little to make him sleep easier at night. 

"Dear Mr ____, Thank you for your generous contribution to our cause." 

He felt no sense of atonement when he read those letters, no relief that he'd helped this social welfare center or that hospital or that charity fund. He wanted to feel some respite—he needed to so much but he couldn't seem to find any kind of uneasy peace with his profession—no drops of redemption to make up for the ocean of remorse he drowned in every day. Sometimes he felt like walking away from all this but he owed Minseok everything and it was the only profession and the only life he'd ever known. So he would continue to do it and maybe one day he wouldn't have to toss and turn for hours before finally losing himself to sleep on the cold, hard floors he'd decided would be his bed for as long as he continued to kill.

He still couldn't figure it out, this effect Kyungsoo had on him. He'd just been this kid who lived across the corridor. A kid who smoked too much. A kid whose hair was too red. A kid whose tattoos were too conspicuous. A kid who was too much of _everything_ Jongin had spent his whole life trying to avoid. In the months he'd lived at their apartment building, Jongin had never felt like he wanted to get to know him—had never felt particularly curious about him. So why did Jongin suddenly want to know _things_? What was the story behind the mysterious designs etched into his skin? Did he have any other tattoos on his body? Why did he smoke so much? Why did he even care why Jongin slept on the floor? 

Jongin couldn't explain the sudden thirst for information about Kyungsoo and he could only hope it was a temporary madness. The other thing he couldn't explain was why he had slept so well the last two nights with this boy in his room. A boy who had been a complete stranger two days ago, and who was technically _still_ a stranger, despite his determined efforts to excavate more and more details about Jongin's life.

He'd even managed to extract his name. Jongin couldn't even remember the last time he'd told anyone his real name. It felt like years since he'd said his own name aloud. It was usually aliases he shared with people, so why hadn't he given Kyungsoo one of his aliases? He wouldn't have known any better and Jongin could have gotten him off his back without actually giving up anything incriminating. It would have been the most rational, most logical thing to do and yet Jongin had turned his back on caution and told him his actual name. 

What was this recklessness? He wasn't a reckless person so his actions the past two days made no sense at all. He wasn't looking forward to Minseok's visit. Baekhyun and Minseok would be dropping by after lunch and he wasn't looking forward to the interview because there were so many things he hadn't sorted out in his own head. He hoped the boy didn't slip up and call him by name because that would definitely earn him Minseok's censure. 

There was movement behind him and Kyungsoo's forehead pressed against his left shoulder blade. Kyungsoo's skin was warm against his back and Jongin tried to move away but his body wouldn't co-operate. As Kyungsoo inhaled and exhaled in sleep, puffs of heat warmed his back. It had been so many years since he'd felt another body beside his in this way, but this felt nothing like cuddling up to Baekhyun. The body didn't feel the same for one—this wasn't the skinny, boyish frame of a fourteen year old. Kyungsoo had narrow shoulders and and curved, almost soft lines to his body that were anything but boyish. Jongin was all bones, lean muscle and rough angles and he wasn't used to bodies like Kyungsoo's. He especially wasn't used to having bodies of any kind near him. He had never done casual hook-ups and he wasn't planning to start one with this boy.

More movement. . .and this time, Kyungsoo shifted a little and turned and settled his cheek against Jongin's upper back, his arm flinging slowly through the air to rest half on Jongin's hip and half across his stomach. Jongin closed his eyes, sighing at the complex tangle of emotions that crept and weaved their way around his chest. Why did he feel both trapped and anchored at the same time as Kyungsoo burrowed closer like a living, breathing blanket.

_I need to wake him. I need to get away. I need to. . ._

But all thoughts of escape were stopped in their tracks by the slim leg wrapping itself around Jongin's legs. Anchored? Trapped? He didn't know which he felt; all he knew was that he couldn't have moved any more than he could have stopped breathing. Kyungsoo's body was nothing like Baekhyun's and Kyungsoo was nothing like Baekhyun. Nothing at all.

It was still dark outside, and his watch told him it was only 4.27 am—roughly two hours since he’d gone to sleep on the floor with Kyungsoo on the bed above him. He could remove himself from the cage Kyungsoo had made around his body (and God only knew what else) and sleep a few feet away, or he could just stay where he was and soak up Kyungsoo's warmth. He knew he was going to regret this in the morning and probably for the next few weeks, but Jongin allowed himself to finally relax. Slowly, his muscles uncoiled and released, filling up the slivers of space between his body and Kyungsoo's. The scent of mint shampoo, tangerine soap and Kyungsoo invading and overtaking his senses, Jongin's limbs began to grow heavier. Latching on to the lulling, calming rhythm of Kyungsoo's breathing, Jongin inhaled and exhaled, inhaled and exhaled and let himself fall. . .

♦

_Warm. So warm._

__Kyungsoo's face was snuggled against warm cotton, and his body draped over warm torso and warm legs and everything was so warm and cosy and he never ever wanted to move. He breathed in the delicious male scent of Jongin mixed with mint and tangerine. He couldn't remember when he'd last shared a bed with someone. It had been a while since the selfish ex whose ass he'd dumped six months back—but physically, Sehun had been nothing like Jongin. Both of them were tall and broad-shouldered at over six feet, but that was where the similarities ended. Jongin had tawny skin and a lean body, midnight hair and a square jaw while Sehun had summer blond hair, a rail-thin body and heart-shaped face. Sehun was all acute angles and sharp, bony limbs while Jongin had more comfortable edges._ _

__Aside from the obvious physical differences, Jongin was a lot more restful to be around. Maybe it was because he was older, or maybe it was because he did what he did. Hitmen had to be patient, right? Stake out their victims and observe them for days or weeks? He was so static and said so little. He was about as different from hyperactive, talkative Sehun as it was possible to be and yet. . .? Yet Kyungsoo was more attracted to the older man than he had ever been to Sehun._ _

__Sehun and him—they'd kind of tripped into a relationship because they'd both worked the night shift in the same 24-hour convenience store and the days got really cold in the winter when you couldn't afford heating and the sex was pretty good too. When Sehun had switched jobs and started working day shifts, they'd very naturally fallen out of the relationship with the same lack of emotional attachment they'd had going into it. He missed the sex sometimes and really just the comfort of sharing space with another body, but he did not miss the bickering or the fighting over who had to pay for lunch. And he especially did not miss how lazy Sehun was and how he always tried to get out of doing the dishes or cleaning the toilet._ _

__He had no idea if Jongin could have any or all of his ex-boyfriend's habits but Kyungsoo knew he wanted to have the chance to find out. He also wanted to know why he wasn't more disturbed by the fact that the man killed for a living. Even more perplexing that that though, was the issue of why he'd decided to hurl himself into the same dubious profession. And there was no way he could see himself actually killing anyone so WHAT THE FUCK, DO KYUNGSOO? The only thing he could think of was that he needed an excuse, no, a reason to spend more time with Jongin, no matter how reluctant the other man seemed to about this. He wondered how Jongin would react to going to bed alone on the floor and waking up to Kyungsoo wrapped around him like a quilt._ _

__It was already 7am and he knew Jongin wouldn't sleep forever. He was also pretty much 500% sure that Jongin would ask him to _get the fuck off him_ (no please or thank you) as soon as he woke up, so he shamelessly took the opportunity to shimmy closer to the sleeping man while he could—his arms looped snugly around him. It was so good to be able to just hug someone, even if the other person didn't know he was being hugged. It was the thing he’d missed the most about being in a relationship—hugging someone. And being physically anchored in the present seemed to keep Jaehee's screams at bay. He needed to not hear Jaehee's screams. Was Youngsoo okay? Was he still alive? What if Kyungsoo had been in the apartment too when the man came._ _

__"I can't do. . .this." The voice was husky, warm and surprisingly awake. Just how long had Jongin been awake? Had he been awake the whole time Kyungsoo had been making free with his body? Boldly and without invitation?_ _

__"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have—" Kyungsoo apologized even if there was no regret in his voice. Reluctantly, he let his arms slide off Jongin. "I shouldn't have done it but I'm not sorry I did. I should lie and tell you I'm sorry I did it but I've never been good at hiding how I feel. That's why things never worked out so good with me and foster parents. I knew they didn't care so I refused to pretend like they cared when they didn't. Plus I didn't care that they didn't care and I showed it. Not a fun time for anyone."_ _

__Jongin made a sound which didn't sound like a word but was somehow comforting anyway._ _

__"It keeps the screams away."_ _

__"What?"_ _

__"Jaehee's screams when he was running to the door—just before the killer shot him. I keep hearing them. They're loud in my head, y'know? And I can't make the noise stop except when we're talking about other shit. And when I'm here, it stops too. Before I knocked on your door, I spent two hours trying to fall asleep but i kept seeing him die and when i wasn't seeing him die, I was remembering things we used to do together—stupid things, y'know? Like spray painting walls with so-called art even though we couldn't art to save our lives, and throwing popcorn at this couple who were making out in the cinema because they were moaning so loud we could barely hear the dialogue. We were so fucking dumb."_ _

__Jongin didn't say anything so Kyungsoo took it as a sign to keep talking._ _

__"When I'm here I just hear the screams for a little while but I don't have Jaehee running to the door and ending up in a bloody pile on the floor on a fucking loop. I just fall asleep real quick, I don't know why it works that way but yeah. And I just sleep. No nightmares. And when I was um. . .hugging you earlier, the screaming stopped."_ _

__"What are you trying to say?" To Kyungsoo's relief, he didn't sound annoyed. More like he was. . .well, not curious exactly, but like he was trying to understand. It was better than Jongin kicking him out of the room for daring to touch him anyway._ _

__"I'm asking if I can sleep here till things get better."_ _

__Jongin made a grunting noise that sounded vaguely like assent._ _

__"Is that a yes?"_ _

__"Only till the nightmares stop."_ _

__"So that's a yes?" And Kyungsoo couldn't help smiling—even if Jongin couldn't see it._ _

__"Whatever. I need to get up and make coffee."_ _

__And then he was gone. But Kyungsoo continued to smile for another minute—right up till the moment he tried to get up and all the aches and pains hit him all at once. Why the fuck did the man sleep on the floor? He'd have to convince him to sleep on the bed tonight because Kyungsoo was not about the Spartan life._ _

____

♦

"When are you going to teach me how to use a gun?"

"I'm working on never,"

"But you promised you'd teach me everything!"

"I don't make promises. Ever. Promises don't work."

_Promises just set you up for disappointment_ , Jongin wanted to say but didn't. His life before Minseok and Baekhyun had been a graveyard of broken promises. His life with them had presented a whole other set of problems but at least no one made promises they couldn't keep and whatever happened, happened. So many promises crushed and broken and scattered on the floor. His sister. His parents. All the things they never got to do together. No, promises didn't work at all. 

__"That's kinda depressing, Jongin." Kyungsoo was watching him curiously again. He had this way of looking at him which made Jongin feel like he could look right into his heart and see the contents—all laid out and exposed and awaiting inspection. All the dark things. . .the ugly things. All the damaged pieces of his soul he had never allowed anyone to glimpse. He hadn't actually told Kyungsoo anything but his name so why did he feel like Kyungsoo could see right into him—like he had a map that charted every contour of every fragment of his soul?_ _

__"It's not meant to be depressing. I just don't believe in saying I can do something when real life may make it impossible for me to deliver. It's better not to disappoint people unnecessarily."_ _

__"Have you been disappointed, Jongin? Have people made you promises they couldn't keep?"_ _

__"That has nothing to do with why I don't want to show you how to use a gun."_ _

__"So teach me then."_ _

__"You're not ready. I'm teaching you things out of order."_ _

__"They could be hunting for me now. Wouldn't it be good strategy to make sure I know how to defend myself against a gun aimed at me?" Kyungsoo said reasonably and the idea of Kyungsoo completely defenceless and caught in the crosshairs made his stomach plunge alarmingly._ _

__"Fine."_ _

__"The gun you used yesterday—is that the one you always use?"_ _

__"That's for incidentals, emergencies. It's another non-negotiable clause in our contracts that we only do long-range kills. Nothing up close and personal. That's not really something any of us are up for. I mean we're all trained in martial arts because it would be stupid dangerous to not know how to fight. But we _really_ go out of our way not to end up in situations where we'd have to. It's just unnecessary mess and risk. We're not in this for the thrill of killing or messing about with our prey. It's a job."_ _

__"What martial arts do you know?"_ _

__"Taekwondo and Krav Maga. That's another reason why you're not suitable for this. . .line of work; you need to know some form of martial arts. You'd need time to pick up those skills."_ _

__"Do I look like I don't know martial arts?" Kyungsoo looked almost offended. To be honest, the kid spent a lot of time looking aggrieved._ _

__"You said I should teach you how to defend yourself,"_ _

__"I meant defend myself against a gun! Even a 6th Dan is useless if someone's about to shoot you. I did a few years of taekwondo when I was in high school. Red belt. Not too shabby, right?"_ _

__"No, not too shabby," he nodded quietly._ _

__"That's a nice change y'know?"_ _

__"Change? What change?"_ _

__"I think I might have seen a bit of respect in your eyes for once. It's nice."_ _

__"What do you usually see?" Jongin asked even if he was pretty fucking sure he wouldn't like the answer._ _

__"Caution. You're always so careful when you talk to me—like you're scared you'll slip and tell me things I shouldn't know. Or maybe. . .maybe you're just cautious because you're worried you might actually like me if you let go."_ _

__"What the hell?" And Jongin thought he'd hid it so well._ _

__"I'm pretty good at reading people. I know what I see. When you think I'm not looking, I see the loneliness in your eyes."_ _

__"I don’t get lonely."_ _

__"You don't have to be lonely anymore. I'm just saying."_ _

__"I don't know what you're talking about," Jongin said tersely, getting ready to stand up._ _

__"Are you going to leave the room? You always do that when you don't like the direction the conversation is going."_ _

__"I—"_ _

__"Stay. Teach me things."_ _

__"Only if you stop asking me personal questions."_ _

__"I can't promise and I don't want to make promises I can't keep." There was the hint of a challenge in the boy's eyes._ _

__"Don't use my words against me."_ _

__"What's Krav Maga?" Kyungsoo suddenly asked. He seemed to have decided that he wouldn't mess with Jongin any more for now._ _

__"It's a style of hand-to-hand combat engineered by the Mossad. Brutal and effective."_ _

__"But I still don't know what it is. Give me an example?"_ _

__" _The Bourne Identity_. Jason Bourne uses Krav Maga." _ _

__"Fuck, I saw that and it was the coolest thing. Bad ass. You like watching thrillers?"_ _

__"No. I hate them," _because they remind me why I despise my life_._ _

__"So why did you watch _The Bourne Identity_ then?"_ _

__"Baek—someone I know wanted to watch it and he didn't want to do it alone so. . .yeah."_ _

__"That kinda sucks, Jongin."_ _

__"He's a good friend. It's just a movie. I lived."_ _

__"Teach me."_ _

__"Teach you what?"_ _

__"Teach me how to Krav Maga,"_ _

__"What the fuck? NO." Jongin's voice brooked no argument but Kyungsoo was such a persistent fucker he'd probably ignore Jongin's answer anyway._ _

__"It'll be fun, c'mon. You know you want to. And we could do some Taekwondo sparring too, what do you think? It'll be fun. What are you, a 2rd dan?"_ _

__"I think it's a dumb idea. And I'm a 4th dan."_ _

__"Fuck."_ _

__"Yeah."_ _

__"Okay maybe not the sparring, but teach me how to Krav Maga."_ _

__"No."_ _

__"But—"_ _

__"No."_ _

__Of course Jongin ended up agreeing-not-agreeing to Krav Maga lessons the following day. Why had he even expected otherwise? Fuck that kid._ _

____

♦

Minseok and Jongin sat across from each other in the kitchen, separated by two steaming black mugs. Baekhyun had taken command of Kyungsoo and was currently keeping him distracted in some other part of the house so Minseok and Jongin could conduct their conversation, slash, interview freely.

"What's this about the killer mentioning my name?" Minseok's voice was cool and free of inflection as he took a measured sip of _ocha_. His mentor always drank Japanese green tea if he could manage it, and water when he couldn't. Piercing eyes, jet black hair and strong eyebrows that stood out despite all attempts to make them fade into the background. This was a face Jongin had seen much of in the past sixteen years, but while he had memorized every minute detail of Minseok's face and appearance, there was so very little he actually knew about the man. Kim Minseok was an enigma and Jongin didn't think Baekhyun knew him any better even though he'd had a twelve year head start. 

"Jongin. The killer? My name?" Minseok gave him an assessing look. He wasn't used to Jongin being distracted.

"According to the kid, the killer seemed to think _you_ ordered his roommates to off Shim Changmin. Sounded like it was personal. Like maybe he had personal ties to Changmin."

"Based on the physical description you gave us, we've narrowed the killer down to five people." 

Calmly and methodically, Minseok placed five photographs on the table one at a time. And calmly and methodically, just like Minseok had taught him, Jongin examined each HD image on one at a time. He rejected the first three but when he came to the fourth photograph, his breath hitched. It was the man he'd glimpsed in the corridor with a terrified kid in tow. It looked exactly like him except for the platinum hair and the cooler clothes. He wore stylish black leather pants, black shirt and black leather jacket in the photograph.

"This one. But his hair is wrong. How old is this photograph?"

"One, maybe two weeks old. Perhaps the other brother then?"

"Brother?" Confused, Jongin looked up at Minseok.

"The man in the photograph you're holding is Park Chanhyuk. His identical twin, Park Chanyeol, is option No.5, which you haven't even looked at. I'm sure I trained you to consider every option before making your decision. You seem a little off today, Jongin. Is everything alright?"

"I—yes, I'm fine. And yes, I'm pretty sure Park Chanyeol is the man I saw. The one with hair like Baekhyun's. Who is he? What is he to Shim Changmin?"

"First cousins so that might explain why it seemed personal. Chanyeol is better known as Phoenix and his twin is known as Silver Phoenix."

"I've heard those names before. They work for Changmin's father as well?"

"Yes. They work all the jobs. They don't have our caveats so they'll take on any kills. But no women and children either, I believe."

"I can see why they'd be after Changmin's killer but why did the actual killer frame you? And why implicate those two kids? Park Chanyeol insisted they had evidence that the two kids were at the murder scene. Not sure how they found their residence in the end though."

"We did some digging around and those kids worked at a food packaging factory downtown. They have pretty distinctive work uniforms and if Changmin's people had visuals, they probably found them that way. It's not that hard."

"But why frame you?"

"That's the part we're still trying to work out. It's not like we cross paths that much. Different client base. So anyway, here’s what we have set up for now—we’ve got cameras on here and Yixing and Zitao are close by if you need back up. And there's a high possibility they've got someone on me already so I'll be keeping a low profile. I won't be moving around without Yifan and Luhan for as long as this is still up in the air." If Minseok was worried about their situation, it didn't show. That had always been his way. But Jongin was relieved to hear that two of their top assassins would be functioning as Minseok's personal guard too. 

On the very rare occasion Minseok had to resort to this kind of security arrangement, Jongin was usually on his detail, but maybe he had been exempted this time because he had to keep the kid alive. Minseok had a thing about protecting innocent bystanders who got dragged into shit. It was how Jongin's twelve year old self had ended up drinking hot chocolate in Minseok's kitchen at midnight with tears streaming down his cheeks as he relived the scene of his parents being gunned down in a dark street—over and over. The quiet stranger who had saved him hadn't said much; he'd just let Jongin cry. For the longest time. And he'd taken care of Jongin since, in his own cold, detached way. 

"Should I be doing anything?"

"Just keep the kid out of sight. Are you sure he can be trusted?"

"I think so. His fear right after the shooting seemed genuine. I just don't know if anyone was watching the building. I mean Park Chanyeol is a professional. He would have had people staking out the entrances. He would surely have known there was a third roommate? When I walked past the kid, just before the shooting, he'd just come back from lunch. Just taking a smoke before going home. His roommates had the day off or something or they'd have been at the factory. Kyungsoo said they didn't see each other much because he works the night shift."

"Is it possible the killer didn't know there was a third roommate?"

"Possible. But highly unlikely. I'm sure they're looking for him. Loose end. They can't take the risk that he didn't see or hear anything. The only reason they didn't find him that day is because I let him in. If he'd taken the stairs or if he'd been in the corridor when Park exited the apartment. . ." Jongin didn't finish the sentence. He didn't have to.

"Keep him safely out of sight then. The less mess the better. I don't want a war with the Shim family."

"Okay."

"And teach him how to use a gun. Nothing worse than deadweight."

"But Minseok—"

"You can't be everywhere all of the time. He needs basic skills. Take care of it."

"Fine."

"Just make sure he doesn't shoot you in your sleep."

"Goddammit, Minseok."

"Safety first, Jongin. Safety first," Minseok gave him a wry smile and Jongin didn't even try to conceal the loud sigh of frustration.

♦

"So you managed to get Jongin to tell you his name, huh? I wasn't expecting that. He's only known you, what? Two days?"

"I don't get you." Kyungsoo didn't know what to make of the man before him. He was the one who had led them safely from Jongin's apartment the day before and he had this easy friendliness to him that was such a contrast to Jongin's morose nature. In fact, he'd probably said more in the last five minutes than Jongin had said all day. The much older man he'd arrived with didn't look like much of a talker either. But he seemed intimidating in a way that Jongin wasn't—at least not to Kyungsoo anyway. He'd never found Jongin intimidating, no matter how much the other man had tried to put him off in the past few months. He wondered what their names were. No one had bothered to introduce themselves but he had a feeling this was Baek-whatever-the-rest-of-his-name-was who had made Jongin watch _The Bourne Identity_ with him.

"You said it very softly but I heard you say my brother's name earlier. I heard it even if he didn't."

"It was a mistake. I wasn't supposed to call him that. Wait, brother? You're his brother?"

"Well, technically we're not brothers but we practically grew up together so we might as well be brothers?" 

"And the other man? He's your brother too?"

"I'm not at liberty to say," he said stiffly before smacking his own thigh, chuckling. Unexpectedly. "I always wanted to say that in everyday conversation! _I'm not at liberty to say_. . .it's such an uptight thing to say. Like you've got a broomstick up your ass."

"If you say so." Kyungsoo was truly at a loss. Where was the man going with this?

"But I digress. What I really meant to say was, if Jongin has told you his name then I suppose it's okay if you know mine."

"I'm touched, I guess?" Kyungsoo said tentatively and the man laughed—clearly amused.

"I can see why he likes you. You've got spunk."

"I doubt he likes me. He just tolerates me because he's stuck with me."

"Is _that_ what you think?" The man observed him with eyes that shone with a sharp intelligence for all his easy candor.

"I guess," Kyungsoo admitted quietly.

"I'm Baekhyun. Not many people know that name so if it gets out I'll find you and I'll shoot you in the shins. Just so we're clear."

"Ah, yeah. I. . .uh, won't be throwing your name around anytime soon."

"Right, now we've got introductions out of the way. Where's Mathilde?"

"Who?"

"The fucking plant."

"Is that her name? I forgot to ask. He won't let me smoke near her."

"I hope you're not smoking outside the house because that would be like open season and you're the game."

"No, I smoke in the back toilet with the exhaust fan on."

"That's sad, dude."

"Tell that to your brother," Kyungsoo grumbled—not happy that he was the source of so much entertainment for the man Baekhyun.

"He told you his name. I can't wrap my head around this."

"What's his other name? The one people know?"

"Well, he has a few aliases but if you mean his _work name_? It's Yeohaengja."

"So Jongin's known as Traveler. Huh. It kinda suits him. What's your name? I'm gonna go with my instincts and say you're not Eoreum."

"What the hell?" Baekhyun laughed with his whole body. He wasn't contained and controlled the way Jongin was. Expressive and comfortable in his own skin—that was how he seemed to Kyungsoo. "I like you, kid."

"I'm not exactly lovable so I don't understand why. So what's your other name?"

"Bulkkoch. Is that more suited to me than Eoreum?"

"Blaze. Hmm. . .it's definitely a better fit than Ice, not gonna lie."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence."

"How are you brothers? You're so fucking different from each other."

"I'm one of a kind, you know?"

"So the man you came with, is he Eoreum?"

"Oh I'm not falling for that one, kid. You'll have to ask him yourself."

♦

"I still think you're better off with a cactus. Low maintenance and all that," Baekhyun teased as he slung his arm casually around Jongin's shoulder.

"Stop dissing my daffodil," Jongin growled but his chest already felt a little lighter for spending some time with his brother. They both looked up as they heard a rap and the door swung open to reveal a man with elfin features and reddish brown hair.

"Time to go, boss," Luhan called out to Minseok—his eyes lingering on his employer a little longer than necessary. He looked like he was barely into his twenties but Luhan had celebrated his thirtieth birthday just months ago and had been an active assassin in Minseok's team for six years now. People routinely underestimated him because his innocent features were so disarming and he looked so. . .harmless. No one expected someone who looked like Luhan to be lethal with an impressive array of assault weapons. His innocuous looks were his biggest trump card.

"Be safe," Minseok clapped him on the shoulder after Baekhyun had released Jongin from his grip. "If you need anything. . ."

"I know. I'll call. Stay safe too," Jongin said to Baekhyun and Minseok, feeling oddly self-conscious with Kyungsoo in the room.

"Let's do _Age of Ultron_ next week, 'kay?" Baekhyun gave Jongin a quick but sincere hug. Baekhyun had always been a hugger and Jongin teased him that assassins weren't supposed to hug each other in much the same way Baekhyun gave him shit about flowering plants being too wimpy for assassins.

"Let's not. All the killing and dying. What about a nice romcom for a change, huh? One with a zero body count?"

"We'd be asleep in the first 4.5 minutes, let's be real."

"We can _try_."

"You can try, dude. I need Romanoff—you know she's my dream girl. I'll get the tickets and text you the details. Ooh, the kid will need a ticket too won't he?"

"Yes, me. I'll need a ticket," Kyungsoo raised his hand. "I'll watch anything—thriller, romcom, Mickey Mouse Playhouse. ANYTHING to get out of this fucking house."

"No leaving the house till the threat is cleared," Jongin's voice was firm. Unyielding.

"But I'm gonna die if I don't get some sunshine."

"You _will_ die if you leave the house. Plus there's sunshine in this house."

"You won't let me sit near any windows!"

"There's sunshine in other places in the house."

"I'm not a goddamned cat who's going to lie down on the floor to catch the rays!"

"That's the only option you got so suck it up!"

"Well, this is. . .unusual." Minseok seemed both intrigued and amused. "I don't believe I've heard you raise your voice since you were 15."

"Are you guys. . .flirting?" Baekhyun didn't make any attempt to hide the glee in his voice and on his face.

"NO!" Jongin and Kyungsoo yelled in unison and Jongin wanted to kick himself for getting carried away and shouting. Minseok had always taught him to be in control. What the fuck was wrong with him?

_Never expose what you're feeling. Whether you're angry, happy, sad, anxious, only you can know—no one else. Hide your emotions. Hide them well._

"I dunno. I could have sworn it looked like some kind of weird mating dance?" Exaggeratedly, Baekhyun scratched the back of his head.

"That's it. I'm not watching _Age of Ultron_ with you. You can try convincing Minseok to go with you instead. Good luck with _that_."

"Oh come on, Jongin! That's emotional blackmail, dude. Fine. I'm sorry I implied that you were both horribly attracted to each other."

"That is the shittiest apology I've ever heard."

"It's the only one you're getting, dude!" Baekhyun retorted with a cheeky grin.

"Boss, the car's idling outside—we really have to go," Luhan reminded firmly, his hand resting on Minseok's shoulder. Jongin had wondered for some time now if there was more to their relationship than a strictly professional one. Luhan was so fiercely loyal and Minseok. . .Minseok consulted him about many things. At least that was what Baekhyun said. 

"I'll be in touch. We need to do surveillance on the Park twins before we can decide our next move," Minseok said as he headed towards the front door. People usually regretted keeping Yifan waiting and Minseok liked the waters of his life to be calm. Yifan was an impatient man and if people made him late, he tended to overcompensate by pushing car speeds to the limit. It could make for a harrowing ride and no one enjoyed that.

"Understood."

"And teach him the basics immediately."

"Fine," Jongin agreed. Grudgingly.

Then, Luhan was giving Jongin a respectful nod and the three men were exiting the room in swift, economical moves.

_Always step lightly and quickly. Make no noise and leave no footprints._

__"What basics do you have to teach me?" The voice came out of nowhere—shocking Jongin out of his reverie._ _

__"Stop sneaking up on me, kid!" Jongin found himself yelling again, much to his annoyance._ _

__"But you said assassins need to be really quiet? I'm only doing what you said."_ _

__"You're not trying to kill me so there's no need to sneak up on me, Jesus."_ _

__"Okay," Kyungsoo chuckled before repeating his question. And when Jongin had admitted he had to teach Kyungsoo how to use a gun—super grudgingly—Kyungsoo's face had broken into a grin and he'd looked so handsome that Jongin forgot to breathe for a second. Feeling like he wasn't in complete charge of his body was an alien sensation and Jongin didn't like it, not one bit. He had to be more careful around Kyungsoo, dammit._ _

__"So are you going to teach me now? Because the man said you had to." He was grinning again. His red hair was resplendent in the gentle golden light of the afternoon—it made Jongin a little lightheaded. Kyungsoo's burgundy fringe clung to his forehead in soft waves and he felt the sudden urge to reach out his fingers and touch the flame, to let his fingertips trace the edges of his eyebrows, the contours of his sharp nose, the curves of his plum-like lips._ _

__There was so much he wanted. . .and so much he couldn't allow himself to have. Too frustrated for words, all Jongin did was grunt._ _

____

♦

"Who's Mathilde?" Kyungsoo asked as he aimed the gun the way Jongin had shown him.

"Where did you get that name?" Jongin's eyes, which had been neutral a moment ago, were suddenly wary and suspicious.

"Baekhyun said your plant was named Mathilde."

"That idiot gave you his name?"

"He did."

"That was careless and reckless—what was he even thinking? If you're serious about being in this line of work, never give out your real name."

"You gave me yours."

"That's different."

"Why?

"It just is. Keep the gun at eye level. Concentrate."

"Who's Mathilde?"

"Baekhyun already told you. My plant is Mathilde."

"I meant the person you named her after. You take such good care of that plant and it just seems like. . .maybe you named her after someone you cared about."

"This has nothing to do with gun skills."

"But it has everything to do with you,"

"I am none of your business."

"Was she your lover?"

"You're doing it all wrong," Jongin complained—clearly declaring the topic closed.

"Teach me how to hold it right then," Kyungsoo challenged him and waited for Jongin to walk away or say something cutting, but instead he felt a large hand grip his left shoulder and he let out a tortured, soundless breath as Jongin reached his arm around Kyungsoo's and rearranged his fingers so they didn't overlap. He hoped Jongin didn't notice how much they were shaking.

"Your legs need to be hip width apart like this so you can withstand the recoil better," Jongin used his own foot to reposition Kyungsoo's stance so his legs were further apart, his feet forming an L position. Their calves brushed against each other and Kyungsoo couldn't quite halt the small moan as heat began to swirl up his legs, setting his skin alight. If Jongin heard the moan, he pretended not to as he continued to manipulate Kyungsoo's limbs and his back— _Lean your body forward a little, and lean into the shot like this_. 

Then, Jongin's long, lean arms were reaching around his own—the contact making his skin tingle wildly with anticipation, and Jongin's chest against his back was creating a whole other set of problems. Kyungsoo closed his eyes, channeling all his energy towards suppressing his urges and his increasing need to to touch the man behind and around him. _Focus_ , he heard Jongin say as he pushed Kyungsoo's gripped hands upwards so the Beretta was at eye level. It was hard to concentrate when all he wanted to do was turn around and kiss Jongin, but he would find a way. He refused to give Jongin any additional reasons to use in his case against Kyungsoo becoming an assassin. 

"Aim at your target; keep your hands steady. Keep your stance stable and lean forward. Now, pull the trigger." Jongin's voice was oddly husky as he gave the instructions but Kyungsoo put it out of his mind as he forced himself to concentrate on holding the gun at the right height and pulling the trigger. The metallic click of the empty chamber was loud, abruptly shattering the silence around them. But Kyungsoo was disappointed at the anticlimactic click—he'd been bracing himself for some kind of dramatic recoil that had never happened. Why had he even expected it when Jongin had told him there'd be none?

"Don't believe everything you see in movies—you only ever got recoil with a loaded gun. And I'm not letting you shoot actual bullets in here. You can get recoil with dry fire too, but again, not letting you shoot blanks indoors either." To which Kyungsoo had complained loudly and bitterly that Jongin didn't give him enough credit and that if he didn't trust him to get things right then he never would. All Jongin had done was to give him a withering look and told him that only idiots fired off live rounds and blanks inside a house, and he was not in the habit of imparting knowledge to idiots. 

__"Well, did I get it right?" Kyungsoo asked, turning around so he was facing Jongin and he found himself pressed right up against his chest. Jongin's nose was almost touching his forehead, his lips just inches away from his nose. _He's so much taller than me _, Kyungsoo turned his gaze upwards, heart beating loudly in his throat and face feeling hot and flushed at the proximity. Jongin's golden skin was just a touch away and this time he didn't hesitate as he dared to place his fingertips on Jongin's cheek. There was a strange mixture of desire and anxiety in Jongin's eyes and he looked like he might bolt so Kyungsoo gripped his left shoulder, hoping that would be enough to make him stay.___ _

_____"Don't go," he whispered.__ _ _ _

______For a moment, it looked like Jongin might shrug Kyungsoo's hand off his shoulder. But in the end, he just removed the Beretta from Kyungsoo's hand, and placed it carefully on the nearby dining table._ _ _ _ _ _

______"I can't do this. I just. . .can’t," Jongin sighed like something inside him had given way. Then his arms wrapped around Kyungsoo's waist, dragging him closer. Kyungsoo leaned into his embrace, his fingers curving around Jongin's nape, toes raising slightly. He wanted more than anything to kiss Jongin, to slip his tongue in and slowly discover the inside of his mouth, the contours of his lips. . .but his instincts told him to hold back and let Jongin set the pace this time._ _ _ _ _ _

______In their little dance, Kyungsoo had been the one pushing him from the start while Jongin had been the one to pull away. So he made himself stand quietly in Jongin's arms—desperate to touch and half-dazed from yearning. His skin felt flushed and tingly and he was already half hard from the sustained proximity. Kyungsoo wanted nothing more than to drag his palms over Jongin’s tawny skin, to decode the color of his nipples and the shape of his collarbones, to discover the flat planes of his stomach and the curved lines of his cock—and Kyungsoo slammed the brakes on that trajectory of thought._ _ _ _ _ _

______In the end, Kyungsoo only had to wait eight seconds before Jongin moaned and bent down, his lips covering his in a hungry, almost desperate kiss. Jongin’s lips were surprisingly soft as they pushed at the borders of his mouth, and Kyungsoo's fingers curled around Jongin's nape as he moved closer to him. Then he opened his mouth with a soft moan which deepened as Jongin’s tongue swept into his mouth, hot and wet and strong. As they kissed, Jongin’s palms rested on his waist, firm and possessive like they belonged there—had always belonged there._ _ _ _ _ _

______Mouths fused together, their hands stroked, touched, explored. And when Kyungsoo's hands snuck beneath the dark knit sweater he wore and caressed the smooth skin of his back, Jongin groaned. Panting slightly, Jongin placed his lips to the sensitive skin of Kyungsoo's neck and it felt good, so good as the sensations rushed across Kyungsoo's skin, leaving his nipples erect and his cock heavy and aching. And he wasn't the only one, Kyungsoo thought, as he felt Jongin's boner pressing insistently against as stomach. He ground against it as subtly as he could, but decided against grabbing it; he wasn't sure how Jongin would respond if he did anything that direct. He was just happy they were even doing this much._ _ _ _ _ _

______Their tongues teased and chased each other as they kissed again and Kyungsoo let himself drown in Jongin and press and slide of his exposed skin against his. Jongin finally pulled away, a minute later, so they could catch a breath, because if they'd gone on they would either have ended up coming in their pants or fucking each other and none of them was really ready for that—not just yet._ _ _ _ _ _

______And they just stood in each other's arms for a while—not talking and just leaning into each other's warmth. Kyungsoo couldn't remember the last time he'd hugged anyone this way and maybe he never had. He wondered when Jongin had hugged someone like that and who that person had been. Had it been the mysterious Mathilde? There was so much he wanted to ask, so much he wanted to learn about Jongin but there would be time for that later. He didn't want to kill the mood._ _ _ _ _ _

______Kyungsoo rested his forehead in the crook of his neck, still panting slightly. “I’ve wanted to do that for the longest time.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“We've only really known each other two days.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“I’ve wanted to kiss you for _much _longer than that, Mister. I mean Jongin,” Kyungsoo chuckled.___ _ _ _ _ _

________“How long?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“At least two months now. Why do you think I always smoked outside our building? So I could get fresh air? I could have gotten plenty of that sitting on the fire escape. I sat there hoping I'd see you, y'know?"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"I'm nothing much," Jongin shrugged off. He tried to look nonchalant but Kyungsoo could see the slight dusting of pink on his cheeks. Could he be a little bit. . .shy? Kyungsoo hadn't expected it but it seemed like a real possibility._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"Well, you were enough of something to have me sitting out in the cold in late winter when I hate, and I mean FUCKING HATE the cold. So yeah, I think you must be something much."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"I still don't see it but okay," Jongin said quietly and Kyungsoo reached his arms round him and just hugged him tight. He seemed like someone who hadn't been hugged enough in his life. Jongin's muscles seemed to tense up at first. It was like physical intimacy had been okay when they were making out, but now that they were just hugging? It suddenly seemed like somehow a little too much closeness for Jongin._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"Can I just hold you for a while?" Kyungsoo asked carefully._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"I don't really—" He sounded so awkward and lost and it deepened Kyungsoo's resolve to hug him hard and often._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"Just for a little while. I promise it won't hurt," he teased._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"I'm not a child."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"Trust me, I know you're not," Kyungsoo gave Jongin's crotch a meaningful look and that seemed to break the ice a little as Jongin laughed._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"I never know what's going to come out of your mouth next," he shook his head._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"Just let me hold you. You can insult me later. I could do with a hug. I mean I haven't had a chance to think about Jaehee for a few hours now but I'm sure I'll have to deal with it sooner or later. I think a hug would help. Y'know?"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"Okay," Jongin said finally, just before he draped his arms around Kyungsoo in a slightly tentative hug. Not caring how he'd react at this point, Kyungsoo moved further into his arms and hung on tight. Cheek pressed against Jongin's chest, he could hear his low, steady heartbeat; it was a calming, comforting tattoo. It made Kyungsoo feel safe, made him forget all the madness of the last two days. A few seconds later, he felt Jongin relax into the embrace and his chest ached a little when Jongin's arms tightened around him._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________When Jongin rested his chin against his shoulder, the pattern of his inhale-exhale-inhale filled Kyungsoo with a sense of belonging he'd never felt with any of his exes. Now if only he could persuade Jongin that they had to do this all the time. From everything he'd seen of the man though, it was going to be hella difficult. But for now, Kyungsoo didn't want to think about all that. He just wanted to think about how good Jongin smelt and how good it felt to have his arms around him._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Just a little over 48 hours ago, he'd been sitting outside his building, smoking—waiting for the Ahjussi to show up. Never in a hundred lifetimes would he have imagined that he would find himself in a situation where the Ahjussi would be training him how to be an assassin and that he would actually end up kissing the man. It was kinda beyond wild. It was almost like he'd walked into some parallel universe where people shot other people without blinking an eyelid. Although. . .Jongin didn't seem to be someone who was at peace with his profession. If he was being honest with himself though, Kyungsoo wasn't all that sure he could actually kill anyone. It didn't help that Jongin was actively trying to convince him that he _never_ wanted to kill anyone. Actually, Jongin seemed determined to stop him from joining his trade, period._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Still in Jongin's arms, Kyungsoo looked up at the wall clock that hung right over the dining table. It was past four in the afternoon now, and he would normally be killing time before heading out to get food at 6.45 pm. He usually showed up for work fifteen minutes before his 8 pm shift started. His (now former) boss was probably about ready to kill him by now. God only knew where his cellphone was—had the killer taken it? There were probably a few hundred missed calls from Joonmyun and another couple hundred angry text messages. He felt bad about going AWOL on his boss but he knew his old life was over now. Forever inaccessible._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________No more ties—that was one of the things Jongin had told him about becoming an assassin. He'd need a new phone with a new number. He was getting a reboot on life and he was going to do everything to make sure that Jongin was a permanent fixture in his new life. As memories of his former roommates began to invade the perimeters of his mind, he clung to Jongin and tried to keep them out._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________ _ _ _ _ _ _

♦

"So when are we dying my hair?" Kyungsoo asked as he watched Jongin load the dishwasher. Washing dishes the old school way wasn't an option for them because standing in front of a window wasn't an option for them. It was another thing the boy would have to get used to, and he hoped Kyungsoo would follow the rules. Unfortunately, Kyungsoo seemed like the sort to follow the rules only when it suited him to do so.

Jongin sighed inwardly as he remembered their impromptu afternoon make out session. Already one rule broken. _No ties _, he'd told the boy but he could already feel the fine, sticky threads forming between them—drawing them together. _No ties _was a cardinal rule for him, with the exception of Minseok and Baekhyun, and yet the boy had crashed into his life two days ago and started bending and rewriting all the rules. Jongin should have stopped him but the boy was like a force of nature that flattened everything in his path.____

____Jongin could have, though, if he'd really wanted. He could have resisted him. He could have chosen not to kiss him but they could all die tomorrow or tonight if the Park twins had figured out their location, and Jongin couldn't seem to deprive himself of Kyungsoo's touch. The truth was that Jongin had just wanted it. He'd wanted to kiss Kyungsoo and he'd enjoyed kissing him and he wanted to do it again. The boy was probably more experienced than him, but he didn't need to know that Jongin had only kissed one other person—when he was 22. That was how long it had been since he'd kissed anyone. He got the occasional brotherly hug from Baekhyun but that was hardly the same kind of comfort at all._ _ _ _

____"Are you listening, Jongin? When are we dying my hair?"_ _ _ _

____"What?" It was the last thing he'd expected Kyungsoo to ask him. The boy was constantly causing him whiplash with his candid questions and abrupt changes in topic._ _ _ _

____"Well, the red hair is rather in-your-face and if I'm serious about doing this, I guess I need to just suck it up and go back to black."_ _ _ _

____"Baekhyun left a few boxes of hair dye today—so you'd have a range to pick from. Don't expect much though because it's just different shades of dark brown and black."_ _ _ _

____"Exciting!" Kyungsoo laughed before getting serious again, "But seriously? I might as well bite the bullet and do it now."_ _ _ _

____"But—"_ _ _ _

____"What is it?"_ _ _ _

____"I like the red," Jongin said quietly, and impulsively he let his fingers comb through Kyungsoo's soft red hair. It was so silky and soft and it made Jongin a little anxious that the red hair he'd always associated with Kyungsoo was soon to be replaced. It was vibrant and dramatic and loud like Kyungsoo was. Jongin had never known he'd needed someone like that in his life until he'd met the boy for real. But who was he trying to kid? He'd probably stayed in that apartment as long as he had because he'd liked walking past Kyungsoo a few times a week and sharing brief snatches of conversation with him—even if he'd never admitted it to himself._ _ _ _

____"Do you?" Kyungsoo stepped closer to him, his hands reaching for Jongin's._ _ _ _

____"I do."_ _ _ _

____"You know what that means? We need to fuck tonight—while I still have the red hair,"_ _ _ _

____"Goddammit, you can't just say shit like that to me, kid!"_ _ _ _

____"Why not? We both want it and tomorrow the red goes. You know it's only a matter of time before we fuck and I'd rather not wait when we could die tonight or tomorrow or whenever."_ _ _ _

____"That's the worst pickup line I've ever heard in my life," Jongin complained but he had to laugh at the kid's audaciousness._ _ _ _

____"Think about it, there'll be no more red tomorrow," Kyungsoo said just before he reached up and kissed him and then Jongin was too busy drowning in the taste of his mouth to think about anything else. And so he allowed himself to be led out of the kitchen and through the living room as they exchanged impatient kisses._ _ _ _

____"Gun holsters are serious cockblockers," Kyungsoo groaned in frustration when he realised that he probably wasn't going to be able to remove Jongin's sweater until they reached the bedroom with the shoulder holster in his way._ _ _ _

____"You always surprise me with the things you say."_ _ _ _

____"I have no filter, I'm sorry," the kid apologised but he didn't look the least bit sorry as he pulled Jongin into the bedroom._ _ _ _

____"It's a horizontal shoulder holster by the way," Jongin mumbled distractedly as Kyungsoo's dragged his collar down to mouth his collarbones._ _ _ _

____"Stop teaching me things! No time for that now. Just take the fucking thing off."_ _ _ _

____And within seconds the Beretta and the leather straps were on the side table, and Jongin's sweater and Kyungsoo's borrowed sweatshirt on the carpeted floor. The bare skin of their chests were touching—Kyungsoo's moonlight skin pale against his own tanned skin. His nipples were a kind of chocolatey pink and darker than how Jongin had imagined them to be. They were so pretty though and when he thought about tasting those nipples, his cock ached even more than it was already aching. Kyungsoo's burgundy hair looked even redder than usual against the ivory of his bare neck and chest, Jongin thought as he cupped Kyungsoo's cheek._ _ _ _

____"This is such a bad idea," Jongin said, and he meant it. Everything about this screamed bad idea because 1) the kid was probably being hunted by the people who killed his roommate, and 2) they'd only known each other properly for two days—even though it sometimes felt like they'd known each other for much longer. No matter what angle he considered, sex sounded like a fucking bad idea._ _ _ _

____"Bad ideas are my favorite thing." Kyungsoo's palm whispered over Jongin's left shoulder and along the ridges of his collarbones. It was like they were both hesitating—desperate to touch each other and to explore, but nervous too. Jongin closed his eyes as Kyungsoo's mouth moved over his neck, and his hands glided slowly over his back. His skin hadn't been touched this way in almost six years and he soaked it all up thirstily, the way parched desert sands drank up every precious drop of rain that came their way._ _ _ _

____After days of restraint, he could finally let go and he let his hands roam, palms and fingertips trailing over Kyungsoo's skin and tracing the intricate bluish black lines of his tattoos. For minutes they just stroked and caressed each other with a kind of reverent wonder—both still in a mild state of disbelief that they were even here, standing before each other. Stripped and exposed with nothing to hide behind. It wasn't a state Jongin was used to but there was something about the boy that made him forget the rules. He just moved Jongin in ways he couldn't explain, couldn't resist._ _ _ _

____When their mouths came together, finally, there was surprisingly more tenderness than lust in the kiss they shared. _I want you so much_ , Kyungsoo said, his hands cradling Jongin's jaw. _So, so much_ , his lips slid over Jongin's earlobe as he said it and the words intensified the tightness in his groin which had already reached unbearable levels. Then Kyungsoo was licking the shell of his ear, and he couldn't stop the loud moan from escaping any more than he could stop his nipples from becoming erect or his cock from twitching in his pants. And his moans only got louder when Kyungsoo's hand slipped beneath the waistband of his linen drawstring pants and gripped his cock._ _ _ _

____"Fuck," Jongin bit out as Kyungsoo palmed his bare cock, pressing and tugging. Before he could return the favor though, he was sidetracked by the tongue skillfully circling his nipple; and when Kyungsoo's mouth fit over it and sucked gently on first the right nipple then the left, he couldn't help bucking his hips—pushing his cock further into Kyungsoo's hand. The simultaneous pressure on his cock and nipples had pretty much reduced all his self control to a fragile thread, one that was liable to snap any moment. He needed to distract Kyungsoo or he'd end up coming before they'd even got their pants off._ _ _ _

____Not bothering to waste any more time, Jongin pushed Kyungsoo's sweats and underpants down his hips, easing them carefully over his boner as Kyungsoo hissed softly. Then he took a deep breath and wrapped his fingers around Kyungsoo's beautiful, elegantly formed cock. The satiny skin felt so good in his grip as he worked his fingers up and down in a steady rhythm. With his other hand, he stroked Kyungsoo's soft, narrow hip, his ass, his softly curved thigh. Kyungsoo moaned into Jongin's mouth as he kissed him and they pleasured each other with their hands. By now Jongin's pants were pooled around his ankles and Kyungsoo was dragging him towards the bed and pushing him down on his back. Kyungsoo was so handsome in the lamplight as he crawled over him and Jongin feared the flimsy thread holding his self control in place was poised to break._ _ _ _

____Kyungsoo lowered himself onto Jongin's body and Jongin moaned as they made contact, skin to skin—hipbones and thighs almost perfectly aligned. When their cocks brushed against each other, it took almost all of Jongin's self control to not climax. He'd taken the edge off all these years with hasty hand jobs—sometimes in the shower and other times in the darkness of his room. And when the need got too intense, he indulged in the occasional, guilty fingering session. Pleasuring himself had helped to blunt the need but Jongin realized now that it was a poor substitute for having a living, breathing body beside you and a real person kissing you and touching and holding you. A poor substitute indeed. And it terrified him how much this boy had come to mean to him in just two short days._ _ _ _

____"Thank you," Kyungsoo said unexpectedly as he lay on top of Jongin, watching him with fathomless, midnight eyes. Jongin felt disoriented—why were they suddenly having a conversation in the middle of an intense make out?_ _ _ _

____"For what?"_ _ _ _

____"For this. For not telling me to fuck off when I suggested this."_ _ _ _

____"I would have if I'd known how to," Jongin sighed, and he knew it was a bad idea but he cupped Kyungsoo's cheek anyway, before letting his fingers trail over the lightly stubbled skin of his jaw. Then his fingertips moved further still as they strummed the soft, velvety texture of Kyungsoo's undercut. It felt so giving. So good._ _ _ _

____"Do you maybe like me a little?" Kyungsoo smiled down at him._ _ _ _

____"Maybe a little," Jongin smiled back, his fingertip tracing the outline of Kyungsoo's plump lips. He liked that Kyungsoo had all these soft edges to his body—his lips, jaw, hips, thighs and ass all gently curved somehow. He liked how different they were physically—Kyungsoo's soft edges versus Jongin's angular, hard edges._ _ _ _

____"I'm glad because maybe I like you too. But a lot more than a little," Kyungsoo said and then his lips were moving over Jongin's, his tongue diving eagerly into Jongin's mouth. "I like you a lot, Ahjussi," he whispered as he suddenly ground his hips against Jongin's, and the heat began to coil intensely in his groin. The next time Kyungsoo's cock thrust against his stomach, Jongin countered with a thrust of his own, and it felt so good he wasn't sure how much longer he could hold out. Kyungsoo rocked his hips again and Jongin knew he wouldn't be able to withstand much more of this._ _ _ _

____"You should probably go easy. It's. . .been a while for me,"_ _ _ _

____"How long?"_ _ _ _

____"Too long," Jongin gasped as Kyungsoo's lips moved slowly down his abdomen. Too close. . .Kyungsoo's mouth was too close to—_ _ _ _

____"How long?" Kyungsoo persisted as his tongue dipped into Jongin's navel._ _ _ _

____"Six."_ _ _ _

____"Months?"_ _ _ _

____"Years. My job isn't really. . .conducive," Jongin admitted, more than a little embarrassed._ _ _ _

____"Six years? I'm dying to ask but I really need your dick inside me right now and please tell me you have lube," Kyungsoo groaned anxiously._ _ _ _

____"I do," Jongin chuckled nervously, reaching for the black toiletry bag on the bedside table which held all his personal supplies. He was trying really hard not to think too much about having his dick inside Kyungsoo. He really needed to not think about that right now so he could last longer than five seconds when Kyungsoo finally sat on his dick. It didn't take long to locate the small black tube and before he even knew what was happening, Kyungsoo was lying on his back beside him with his knees up, his thighs spread open and his cock long and hard and curving away from his stomach._ _ _ _

____"Hurry, Ahjussi."_ _ _ _

____"You spent all that time asking me for my name and now you're calling me Ahjussi," Jongin shook his head as he spread the cool liquid on his fingers._ _ _ _

____"Hurry, _Mister_ ," Kyungsoo complained as he began fisting his own cock and Jongin had to laugh at his sass but then his middle finger disappeared inside him and he wasn't laughing anymore as he concentrated on stretching and scissoring the tight skin. Moans filled the room as Jongin slowly worked him open and finally Kyungsoo begged, "Now, Ahjussi, I need you to—" _ _ _ _

____"Stop calling me Ahjussi," Jongin said shakily as he positioned his cock. Then he inhaled and sank into Kyungsoo with a low moan. For a moment, he didn't move at all—just basking in the sensation of being buried to the hilt in this beautiful boy. Strands of red hair spilling over the pillow, Kyungsoo watched him with eyes half-drunk with passion, his lips shiny and swollen from the kisses Jongin had given him. _He_ had done this to Kyungsoo._ _ _ _

____"You're perfect," Kyungsoo said as he reached up and kissed Jongin, hard cinnamon nubs brushing against Jongin's heated skin. Losing himself to the kiss and Kyungsoo's hands caressing his buttocks, Jongin finally began to move—thrusting in and out and in again and Kyungsoo was so tight, and the hot wet glide of skin against skin was indescribable._ _ _ _

____"I'm not." There was a brief prick of pain as Jongin reflected on how far from perfect he was but he wasn't doing this today and he shut the demons out as Kyungsoo met him thrust for thrust. Kyungsoo's body was arching off the mattress, his eyes shut in ecstasy with the sheets knotted in his fingers._ _ _ _

____Jongin could feel the pressure building as they rocked into each other with increasingly frenzied thrusts and when Kyungsoo bit and sucked a hickey near his collarbones, Jongin knew it wouldn't be much longer. When Kyungsoo's mouth slid sinfully over his left nipple and licked and sucked on it, that marked the end of Jongin's self control and he spilled himself at the same moment Kyungsoo groaned and came—warm white liquid spurting all over Jongin's belly._ _ _ _

______ _ _

♦

"Why do you even have condoms on you when you haven't fucked anyone in six years?" Kyungsoo asked as he drew circles over Jongin's ribs with his index finger.

"We have to be prepared for every eventuality," Jongin said sheepishly.

"Even sex?!" Kyungsoo's eyebrows shot up incredulously.

"The man who taught me everything? He said we should always carry condoms on us because life is unpredictable. And if we couldn't keep our dicks in our pants, he'd rather we didn't pick up any diseases while we were busy getting busy. And that getting someone pregnant wasn't something he encouraged unless we were planning to leave the profession."

"Hitmen can't have kids?"

"They can, but they just won't be hitmen that work for him. His father was a hitman too and that's how he ended up in the same profession. He felt like he never had any other option and he didn't want the same thing to happen to anyone else. He's never said anything about it but I know he feels guilty for involving Baekhyun and me in the business too. When we were teenagers, he tried to make us consider going away to boarding school so we wouldn't be exposed to all this. So we could move on to _better things_. But we didn't want to leave home and risk being separated. And I think that deep down, we knew he needed us to be around even though he wouldn't admit it." 

"That's kinda sad. That you never had any choice."

"But we did. He gave us a choice."

"But you hate it," Kyungsoo said quietly as he rested his chin on Jongin's chest, staring up at Jongin.

"I. . .yeah, I do. He warned us that we would but we wanted to find that out for ourselves, I guess. I wish I'd listened." The bitterness lay in his gut like ashes. "After you kill someone, nothing's ever the same again. You have to sleep with one eye open for the rest of your life. You don't want to do what I do, Kyungsoo."

"That's the first time you've called me that. On your own, I mean," Kyungsoo’s voice went all soft as he caressed the frown lines away from Jongin's forehead.

"It can't be."

"I'm always _kid_ to you," Kyungsoo wrinkled his nose in distaste.

"Well, I can't believe you hounded me to tell you my name for days and when we were having sex, you were calling me Ahjussi."

"You've been Ahjussi for so long in my head that it's hard to stop calling you that and I was really like, distracted at the time," Kyungsoo laughed. "Did it make you feel like an old man when I called you that while you were fucking me?"

"I don't know if it made me feel like an old man but it made me feel totally unattractive."

"You are way too attractive for your own good," Kyungsoo said as he hooked one leg over Jongin's thighs and lay right on top of him. Having the weight of another body pressing down on him gave Jongin such a profound sense of comfort, and the fact that it was Kyungsoo was just. . .he'd only known him for two days so why did he make Jongin feel so complete?

"Was it Baekhyun?"

"Hmm?"

"The person you fucked six years ago. Was it Baekhyun?"

"No! He's straight. And even if he weren't straight, Baekhyun is my best friend as well as my brother and we just couldn't ever—yeah."

"Do you still have a thing for him? This other man?" It wasn't jealousy he saw in Kyungsoo's eyes so much as insecurity, and it made Jongin oddly happy. 

"It was someone I had to work with on a job. Someone from a different um, agency I guess you could call it. Eoreum's policy is to never take collab assignments but there was something about this one and anyway they convinced him to take it. That was the one and only collab we ever did. It took two weeks to complete and I guess Jongdae and I hit it off."

"Were you in love?"

"No. It was purely physical, I think? For me, anyway. He asked me out a few times after we wrapped up the job but I said no. I wanted to focus on work." _And I didn't deserve to fall in love anyway or have anyone love me_ , Jongin thought but didn't say. So what was he even doing now with this boy? Why hadn't he told him no tonight? And why did he feel like he was falling into. . .well, _something_ with him?

"Did you stay in touch?"

"Nah. I think he was a little pissed off at first. I haven't seen him in six years. I hear he's still in the industry, though."

"And there was no one else? He was your last?"

"Yeah. But I don't like talking about the past. I've said too much."

"I like when you talk. You don't talk enough."

"I've probably said more in the last two days than I've said all year," Jongin snorted.

"How do you live?!" Kyungsoo poked him in the ribs before bending down to kiss him on the lips. It was a lazy, I'm-so-glad-you're-here kind of kiss and it made Jongin's chest feel all full and achey. 

"I've done just fine on my own for more than a decade."

"Jongin?"

"Hmm?"

"Why do you sleep on the floor?" There was nothing but concern in Kyungsoo's eyes but this was the last topic Jongin ever wanted to discuss. With anyone. So he just sighed and said nothing. He waited for Kyungsoo to ask again because he wasn't the sort to give up easily. But to his surprise, Kyungsoo said nothing and curled up against his chest instead, his fingers stroking Jongin's left arm. 

He was a toucher. He hadn't really stopped touching Jongin since they'd started kissing in front of the dishwasher. Jongin had spent most of the last eight years living on his own and having no one else for company other than himself, so he should have felt suffocated by Kyungsoo's constant touching, but all he wanted was to lean even further into the other man's touch. Closing his eyes, Jongin wrapped his arm around Kyungsoo's back. Then he breathed in the scent of Kyungsoo's hair and skin and felt so at peace it almost hurt. 

"I think," Kyungsoo's voice was soft and his lips soft against his skin, "I think you sleep on the floor to punish yourself. Because you feel guilty about killing people—even if they're bad people who deserve to die. And so you won't even let yourself enjoy the simple pleasure of sleeping on a bed because you don't think you deserve even that and so you punish yourself."

"It's not enough," Jongin said simply. He could have protested that Kyungsoo was wrong but what was the point? Kyungsoo seemed to instinctively know the inner workings of his heart.

"You're not punishing yourself enough?" Kyungsoo raised himself so he could see Jongin's face. They'd switched off the bedside lamp earlier, but the room was gently lit by rays of electric light trickling out from the en suite bathroom. He couldn't see much, but he could see the worried frown on Kyungsoo's face and hear the concern in his voice.

"I'll never punish myself enough," Jongin's voice was a hoarse whisper, his eyes heavy with tears at the thought of this battle he would never win.

"I think you've punished yourself too much," Kyungsoo shook his head sadly before cradling Jongin's face in his hands and kissing him, and Kyungsoo's lips were tender and soft against his. 

"Please. Please save me," Jongin whispered as he kissed him back, his tongue invading the warm spaces of Kyungsoo's mouth. With hunger and desperation, Jongin drank in the tenderness, the gentle healing rain of Kyungsoo's touch. And later, when Kyungsoo thrust into him, filling him up and pushing the emptiness out, Jongin felt more whole than he'd ever done in his life. Moaning and shaking, they moved and rocked together—their bodies alive with desire and so much more. And when they finally surrendered to a shuddering climax, Jongin clung to Kyungsoo like he never wanted to let him go, and prayed that the man in his arms wouldn't notice the tears wetting his cheeks. . .

♦

Abruptly, Kyungsoo's eyes opened—Jaehee's bloodied corpse hovering on the edges of his consciousness. Kyungsoo hadn't seen it all day with Jongin around to distract him but he was more vulnerable in sleep, apparently. It had been such a relief to wake up to Jongin lying there beside him. He'd half expected him to insist on sleeping on the floor tonight and had resigned himself to spending another night on the hard floor. But after they'd had sex the second time, Jongin had just held him in his arms until they both drifted off.

He appeared to be in deep sleep now, his breathing deep and rhythmic. It was a soundtrack Kyungsoo could get used to—one he wanted in his life. Permanently. He just had to convince the stubborn, solitary man to keep him. He didn't know how he'd convince Jongin but he would not give up until he succeeded. Just like he wouldn't give up until he got Jongin to stop sleeping on the floor. 

He would do as Jongin had asked. He would save him.

"No more guilt, Ahjussi," Kyungsoo turned on his side and spooned the sleeping man. "No more guilt," he snuggled closer. All thoughts of Jaehee fading away completely, Kyungsoo buried his nose in Jongin's bare back, wrapped his arms around his waist and fell asleep.

♦

Jongin never dreamt. Almost never anyway. And when he did it was usually fractured pieces of his past which he couldn't quite remember when he woke up. He'd stopped having nightmares about his kills in his third year as an assassin—his mind somehow finding a way to shut things down so he was no longer tormented on a nightly basis. Dreamless sleep, when he actually managed to sleep, was something he cherished. But tonight, Jongin dreamt and the dream was different from any other he'd had.

 

_The colors were blindingly vivid—cloudless cyan sky and blades of emerald green grass in the background with tall, silver-trunked sycamore trees towering over them. It was warm, so warm. A lazy summer afternoon and Jongin felt warmed all the way through to his bones when he usually felt cold—even in summer. They were seated on the jetty, just Kyungsoo and him as they stared far across the placid waters of the lake, fingers entwined and shoulders touching._

_"Come into the water, Ahjussi," Kyungsoo stood up, tugging at his hand._

_"I don't have any swim gear," he protested._

_"Shh. . . we don't need any," Kyungsoo chuckled as he dropped his shorts and pulled his shirt off, confident in all his naked, pale-skinned glory._

_"Someone might—"_

_"There's no one for miles." Long, slender fingers snuck under the hem of Jongin’s plain white tee, pulling it over his shoulders and his head. "No one at all," Kyungsoo's lips felt luxuriant and giving under his, his tongue hot and pliant in his mouth. Then those fingers were sliding past Jongin's waist and cupping his buttocks, and by the time his shorts and underpants were off, Jongin was more than half hard._

_"Come on, Ahjussi," Kyungsoo smiled, red hair flopping over his forehead in the most endearing way. Jongin's bare feet moved across the sun-baked planks of the jetty and then Kyungsoo was yelling, _jump!_ and they were sailing through the air and plunging through the skin of the lake, bodies knifing through the cold water._

_"Fuck, it's cold!" Jongin hissed, goosebumps forming on his exposed skin. But he didn't have time to dwell on the cold as a slim, male body rubbed up against his in the water._

_"Kiss me," Kyungsoo ordered playfully as he positioned his body right up against Jongin's. His cold-hardened nipples poked against Jongin's chest and as Jongin kissed him, strong legs wrapped around his waist. The kid was not subtle at all, Jongin thought as Kyungsoo's fully erect dick nudged him in the belly. Things were different in the water—everything slippery and wet and so fucking sensual. As Kyungsoo covered his neck in kisses, Jongin grabbed his ass, pulling him closer so the pressure on their cocks reached fever pitch._

_"What if someone sees us?" Jongin tried to be the voice of reason as they tried to thrust against each other _and_ tread water at the same time. It wasn't easy but it was worth the exertion and the straining muscles._

_"There's no one but us here, Jongin," Kyungsoo said just before his hand reached for Jongin's cock and began to pump it hard. It was the most intense hand job he'd ever had and his body writhed in pleasure as he moaned Kyungsoo's name. Why was it so intense? Hand jobs didn't normally feel this intense did they? His hips bucked as Kyungsoo fisted him and Jongin wasn't sure he could hold out much longer. . ._

"Oh God," Jongin's moan was loud in his own ears as he suddenly awoke to a far too tangible, far too wet kind of ecstasy. He opened his eyes to the sight of Kyungsoo's head bent over his crotch—plump, rose pink lips sliding over his cock urgently and it was the single most sinful, most erotic thing Jongin had ever seen. And he wished he could have taken more time to enjoy watching Kyungsoo devastate him with his mouth but he was already clinging to the crumbling edges of his self control. "Please," Jongin begged as Kyungsoo's wicked mouth moved over his cock faster and faster, and the pressure built and grew until there was an almost exquisite pain to his need for release. 

Kyungsoo looked up at Jongin for the first time since he'd woken up, his lips puffy and cheeks dusted pink from the exertion. He was _beautiful_. But more than the physical beauty, it was the desire and passion in Kyungsoo's eyes that destroyed Jongin—Kyungsoo's desire and passion for _him_. He knew he didn't deserve this kind of happiness but for now, Jongin didn't care if he was worthy, all he wanted was Kyungsoo. 

"I can't. . .I'm going to—" he warned as the muscles in his chest began to spasm in warning and he waited for Kyungsoo to release him but he didn't—continuing to suck him off until Jongin finally orgasmed with Kyungsoo's mouth around his dick.

As Kyungsoo sank onto his chest with a tired but satisfied grin on his face, Jongin wondered how he was going to get back to sleeping alone on the floor when this all ended—his chest contracting painfully at the idea of trying to cope without Kyungsoo around. Because it would happen. It was inevitable that Kyungsoo would leave. Everyone did at some point. But he didn’t want to think about the bad things now. For now, as he looked down at Kyungsoo all spent and breathless and elated, the only thing his heart and mind could process was how very much he wanted to keep him.

 _All I want is you_.

♦

"Was that okay?" Kyungsoo asked quietly as he settled himself on Jongin. The world was waking up outside and the disembodied red digits of the alarm clock told him it was 7.03 am.

"Okay?" Jongin asked in disbelief.

"Was it okay that I woke you up that way, I mean. I didn't exactly ask permission, um."

"Okay isn’t the word I’d use. I almost died waking up to that so 'okay' isn’t the adjective I would have chosen. I was already having a strange dream as it was. . .so waking up to find my dick in your mouth just about ended me."

"So I shouldn't do that again?" Kyungsoo gave him a look that was anything but innocent.

"I didn't say that," Jongin closed his eyes, refusing to say anymore.

"I've always been drawn to shy guys," Kyungsoo said teasingly.

"I'm not shy."

"Well, you _are_ incredibly cranky, that's true."

"Please stop trying to flirt with me. It's not working," Jongin glared but Kyungsoo could see he didn't mean that at all.

“What were you dreaming about?”

“Nothing."

"Strange is not nothing. Was I in your dream?"

"You're very nosey."

"What were we doing?" Kyungsoo's skin started buzzing. 

"We were sitting by the lake."

"That's all we did?"

"We went swimming," Jongin muttered before looking away; but there was no hiding the shame in his voice. Kyungsoo was used to seeing a somber, neutral expression on the Jongin's face—an expression that was probably intended to make him look much older than his 28 years. But now that he was trying desperately not to blush, Kyungsoo's Ahjussi didn't look much older than him. And it didn't matter that Jongin was a professional killer who knew how to look after himself, Kyungsoo was still consumed by an overwhelming need to protect him. 

"Just swimming?" Kyungsoo gazed at Jongin, playing with his soft, dark hair.

"We might have done other things,"

"Were we wearing swim trunks or surf shorts? This is important, okay?"

"Uh," was all Jongin mumbled before covering his eyes with his left forearm.

"Wait, we weren't wearing anything?!" A thousand moths were fluttering their wings beneath his skin now as Kyungsoo gently removed Jongin's arm.

"Not in the water," Jongin finally admitted, cheeks ablaze.

“That’s it. I’m adding skinny dipping to our bucket list,” Kyungsoo kissed the inside of his wrist, admiring the nephrite colored veins beneath Jongin's smooth, olive skin.

“We have a bucket list?” Jongin looked dubious and amused all at once. Then Kyungsoo saw it—a silvery line about half an inch long on Jongin's forearm. Had he gotten that scar on the job? While he was training? Had there been a lot of blood?

“We do now,” he smiled before asking, “Jongin?”

“Hmm?”

“How did you get this?” Kyungsoo's index finger went over the thin line and some emotion flitted across Jongin’s face—something dark that looked like regret and guilt and maybe a bit of sadness too.

“A knife-fight. We always go for long range, clinical hits. We don't accept any other kind. It's. . .you feel more. . . _removed_ , you know? But things don't always go according to plan and sometimes the other side figures out your location and shit happens.”

"It must have hurt."

"I guess. I have a few scars here and there."

"I saw one one beneath your ribs, last night."

"Ah, yeah. That one. It's lucky the blade hit my ribs instead of my stomach." He said it matter-of-factly, not like he was showing off or fishing for sympathy. There was a pang in Kyungsoo's chest as he bent down to kiss the angry pink line above Jongin's belly. And his heart grew even more congested when he felt Jongin's fingers stroke his nape gently, tentatively. What if one day—what if one day the blade sliced through his stomach for real? Or plunged through his chest? What if he took a bullet to the brain? A wave of nausea swept over Kyungsoo at the thought of losing Jongin and he didn't even want to think about how he'd gotten so attached to the man when he'd technically only known him for two and a half days.

"Don't do this." Jongin's arms tightened around him.

"What do you mean?"

"Don't do what I do. You don't need this pain." There was anguish in his voice and Kyungsoo held on to him.

"I probably don't but. . .let me find out for myself? And anyway,"

"Yeah?"

"I don't want to leave you. If doing this is the only way I can stay with you then I'm doing it."

"That's not fair."

"Who said life was fair? I didn't ask for my roommate to be shot. You didn't ask for me to force my way into your apartment and mess things up for you. But now that I'm here, please let me stay. It's not just about me having nowhere to go. I just—I don't want to leave you," Kyungsoo cupped his cheek, "Ahjussi, Mister, Jongin, whatever name you want me to call you, don't make me go. I just want to stay with you. Don't you want me?"

"I—yes. Yes I want you," Jongin sighed, a complex mixture of defeat, relief and joy on his face.

"Try to sound a little more happy about it," Kyungsoo punched him lightly on the arm and Jongin laughed before growing serious.

"I don’t deserve happiness. But. . .I will teach you what I know. What we did last night though—we can't be this reckless again. We're lucky we didn't get ourselves killed. Min—my boss would have had my head for taking such chances."

"So we can't have sex anymore?"

"That's not what I meant, kid."

"I made you come three times in the last twelve hours, I think you can stop calling me _kid_ ," Kyungsoo rolled his eyes in disgust.

"Goddammit the things that come out of your mouth!" Jongin chuckled.

"I don't believe in sugarcoating things and if I have things on my mind, I air them. No point choking on them quietly."

"I do that."

"Choke on things quietly? Yeah, I noticed. But you have me now, Ahjussi."

"You made me come three times in the last twelve hours, I think you can stop calling me _Ahjussi_ ," Jongin said wryly and this time it was Kyungsoo's turn to laugh.

"Okay, truce," Kyungsoo grinned.

"But back to more serious things, we can't take chances like this anymore. We can't sleep naked because if there's an attack in the middle of the night, we have to be ready to respond straight away and we can't do that without pants on."

"But skin is nice," Kyungsoo stroked Jongin's hip.

"So is staying alive. Also, guns need to be nearby and. . ."

Kyungsoo nodded dutifully as Jongin gave the rest of his safety lecture—so absurdly happy Jongin had admitted to wanting him that he didn't care about anything else.

♦

Carefully, Jongin tipped the glass of water over dark potting mix. The soil turned darker still as it soaked up the moisture. Then he pushed the pot across the counter so it sat right in front of the window—the petals and leaves lifting their faces to the warm sunlight. He always made sure that Mathilde absorbed as much sunshine as possible but he was equally careful not to stand in front of the window himself. He couldn’t remember when he’d last stood in front of an open window and just breathed in fresh air, or even polluted air, he didn’t even care. When had he last felt the warm touch of gold filtered through an open window and on to his face?

"Who is Mathilde, Jongin?" Kyungsoo asked as he came from behind, wrapping his arms around his waist and pressing his cheek against his back. The question wasn't asked in a pushy way, more like curious and concerned, and Jongin was suddenly tired. So so tired of running and hiding all the time.

"My sister."

"You have a sister?"

" _Had_ ; I had a sister. She died when I was eleven. Leukemia."

"I'm so sorry, Jongin," Kyungsoo said, all kinds of regret in his voice as he held Jongin tighter. 

"My parents promised she'd get better and that we'd go on a holiday together. But she didn't get better. And when she was gone, they promised me that we'd all go on a holiday together—we'd spend Christmas in New York because Mathilde had always wanted to visit New York. But they couldn't keep that promise too, because one night in September, everything went wrong. We went to watch _Madama Butterfly_ —my mother had always liked the opera and she didn't like going alone so my father and I always tagged along even though we didn't get opera the way she did." He had to stop to catch his breath; he always struggled when he thought about his parents and he struggled especially when his recollections involved the night of their murder. 

"Are you sure you want to continue?" Kyungsoo asked, lips pressed against his back, "I mean I want to know what happened but not if it's going to cause you pain, Jongin."

"No, I think I need to get it out. I just needed a moment." And Jongin realized he meant it—he really did need to purge this pain from his system. Maybe talking about it really would take away some of its power to haunt him.

"All right."

"So, anyway, after the opera, we were on our way back to the car when some people attacked us, dragged us into an alley. I can't remember how many of them there were but they were fast and had my parents on the ground bleeding, pockets and handbag emptied. I don't know if they would've knifed me too but suddenly there was another person in the alley with us. He moved so fast I could barely see what his hands were doing. He had the assailants unconscious on the ground, knives kicked safely out of reach before I even knew what was going on."

"That was Eoreum?"

"Yeah. But by then, it was too late. My parents were dead. Stomach wounds bleed an ocean so. . .yeah."

"What happened next?"

"He called the police because he couldn't just leave me there on my own."

"Wasn't he worried about exposing himself? Like he's a big hitman boss or whatever you call it, isn't he?"

"He has a legit business under his real name. And that's completely separate from. . .the other thing he does."

"He has a legit business?"

"He imports luxury dinnerware from Japan and Europe," Jongin gave a weak smile.

"That's really, um, I wasn't expecting fancy plates and shit but okay. What happened next?"

"Well the police arrested the two people who killed my parents. And I had two options after that. One was to go back to Korea because we migrated to the States when I was three and we had no actual family here. My mother had a younger brother in Incheon who might have taken me in but he was only 22 and single at the time so he wasn't keen on it, to be honest. My father was the only child so there were no aunts or uncles to lean on. I had no surviving grandparents so no one in Korea really wanted me. If I went up for fostering or adoption, I could have ended up with God only knows who."

"So what happened next?"

"Eoreum has this policy—don't get involved in other people's business. But for some reason he's never explained to me, he decided to get involved in mine. He gave me his business card that night, before he left the police station. Asked me to call him if I ever needed help. As far as I knew, he was an importer of fine dining ware so when it looked like I was going to end up in foster care until they decided what to do with me, I called him. I don't know how he worked things out but within weeks I was adopted by his cousin—a woman in her forties who was married with no kids. He was 26 then _and_ single, so no way he could have adopted me himself."

"You went to live with her?"

"Technically, I moved in with Minseok and Baekhyun. Her husband and her lived on the same compound—but on the other end. It's a huge compound and we didn't see much of each other but I had clothes and shit at their house too. For visits from the Social Welfare Department."

"So Minseok is Eoreum and he's the man who was in the kitchen yesterday. And Baekhyun is his younger brother?"

"Oh shit. I didn't mean to say his name," Jongin groaned.

"It was a matter of time and I'll pretend I don't even know he's Eoreum."

"I keep saying things when I'm around you," Jongin sighed in frustration, "What's wrong with me? I used to sometimes go for days without talking."

"It's a sign you like me," Kyungsoo sounded like he was grinning as he clung even more tightly to Jongin's back. "Anyway, you should talk more. You have a nice voice. It's quiet and deep and it gives me such a boner."

"What the hell, Kyungsoo!" Jongin scolded even if he was secretly pleased.

"You didn't call me _kid_ , I'll take that as a victory." And then he was somehow in front of Jongin and reaching up to kiss him. As his tongue found its way inside Jongin's mouth, and his senses exploded at Kyungsoo's touch, Jongin wondered if the the Fates would let him keep this boy. 

“Jongin?”

“Hmm?”

“Mathilde’s a French name right?”

“Yes. Why?”

“Do you have one too?” Kyungsoo asked as his tongue licked the shell of his ear.

“Yes.”

“Tell me,” he dragged his hand over the bare skin of Jongin’s stomach before stopping at waistband of his pants.

“It’s Matthieu,” Jongin hadn’t said the name in so long that it felt alien on his tongue.

"How did your sister and you end up with French names?"

"My mom studied French Literature at university. Poets like Baudelaire and Rimbaud, writers like Flaubert and Zola. Everything was translated into Hangul and all the names sounded funny but they still called it French literature," Jongin laughed but there was no humor in it, "so she gave us French names. I don't really know how my dad felt about that."

"Matthieu. I like it," Kyungsoo smiled, snuggling close.

"Well, I don't," he said quietly. 

"Why?" Kyungsoo's palm was soothing against his back.

"Who knows? Only my family ever called me that. I've never really told people that name."

"Maybe you'll let me call you that one day," Kyungsoo looked at him hopefully and Jongin just shrugged.

_Maybe one day._

♦

Kyungsoo's nostrils were filled with the masculine scent of Jongin mixed with leather. The other man was wearing his double holster, having established how they had to be alert and ready for anything. He'd mumbled something about finding a holster for Kyungsoo after this and teaching him how to use it. And at some point, he'd teach him how to use a sniper rifle— _but not yet, you need more practice with the Beretta, first_. Kyungsoo hadn't been impressed about having to wait, complaining bitterly about being treated like a kid and how it wasn't like he couldn't handle a rifle, in fact he knew he'd be really good with a rifle and Jongin was just holding him back. Jongin responded by rolling his eyes and telling him to focus on holding the magazine right.

"What do they mean? Your tattoos, what do they mean? There must be a story to them?" Jongin asked all of a sudden as he was showing him how to load and unload the Beretta, and Kyungsoo's heart did a little skip because it was the first personal question Jongin had really asked him. It seemed like the kind of day for confessions. Smiling, he stretched his left arm out—exposing the bold design inked onto the inside of his forearm.

"Can you figure it out?" Kyungsoo asked and Jongin put the gun down, safety on, before taking Kyungsoo's arm in his hands. Kyungsoo had seen it a million times over the years but he tried to put himself in Jongin's shoes, like he was seeing it for the first time. Elegant ebony ink spread fine tentacles across ivory skin—curving and nesting around what looked like a circle. Embedded so intricately into the design that you almost couldn't make them out, were four alphabets and a floating arrow.

"It's a compass." And there was surprise in Jongin's voice like he hadn't been expecting to find one.

"Can you guess why I picked something so fucking corny?"

"Now I know it can't have anything with navigation or finding your direction in life."

"I'm sure that's why most people pick this design but no, that's not my reason."

"You don't have to tell me unless you want to, Kyungsoo." Jongin's expression was pensive and slightly worried and oh God, he loved the way he said his name. He hadn't really minded him calling him _kid_ because it had made him feel special in some dumb kind of way, but having Jongin call him by his name was a whole other kind of special.

"My parents. . .they died when I was twelve. Car accident on the freeway." It didn't hurt so much to say it anymore. It had been eleven years after all. But there were always residual pinpricks he tried his best to ignore. He waited for Jongin to give the usual empty words of consolation people always uttered when he told them he had no parents. But Jongin said nothing and slotted his fingers between Kyungsoo's instead. Their long fingers fit so well together—Jongin's palms slightly larger but their fingers exactly the same length. The warmth of Jongin's hand and the way it wrapped itself securely around Kyungsoo's. . .it felt like they were tethered together in all the ways that mattered.

"So when I was a little kid I was obsessed with compasses. I loved how the arrow trembled and swung and how it was supposed to help you find your way—make you un-lost y'know? I was an only child so I was pretty pampered. They got me bedsheets with compasses all over them, an alarm clock with a compass face. And I wanted wallpaper with compasses too but they couldn't find any and my parents, they—" Kyungsoo paused; he always struggled with this part, "I was an only child. A brat. And my parents, they tried to give me everything. They were really artistic, y'know? Both high school art teachers. In different schools, but yeah. They couldn't find the wallpaper I wanted so they painted me a mural instead. It took them two weeks of hard work and it was just beautiful. They'd painted a compass just like this one on my bedroom wall. I had to sleep in their room the whole time they were working on it because of the smell and also because they'd paint after I went to bed. I was so excited when I woke up every morning because there would be new stuff to look at."

"They sound like amazing people."

"Well they were amazing. I was just a brat. Two years later, I didn't want to have anything to do with compasses and decided I wanted a plain, teal blue wall. It probably broke their hearts but they covered up all their hard work and gave me the blank wall I wanted. And three years later, they were gone. And I've always regretted erasing that mural from my life. So when I was twenty and had enough money saved up to get a tattoo, I got them to recreate the compass my parents painted for me when I was seven. I had photos of it, thank God."

Jongin squeezed his hand, and in a tender gesture that surprised Kyungsoo, he kissed his forehead. 

"I can't believe you suggested removing this tattoo when I said an assassin couldn't have identifying marks. Idiot."

"I'm not an idiot. I just. . .shit talk when I get mad—I would never have removed this for real. I can just use long sleeves, right?"

"You can just _not do this_. Don't kill anyone. Don't take on the guilt. And there will be guilt." 

"Your friend Baekhyun seems pretty well-adjusted."

"Don't be fooled by him. He has his demons too."

"He sure hides them well. And Minseok?"

"He's never shown any weakness but. . .we think he hides things from us."

"And what about you? Do you hide things from them?"

"We don't talk about _this_. We just go and watch movies, have a meal together or watch soccer matches on TV at the old house. And sometimes Baekhyun tells me about this woman or that woman he's seeing."

"Do you tell him about guys you're seeing?" Kyungsoo asked as he slid onto his lap.

"You're sitting on my lap," Jongin looked both nervous and amused. "You need to get off because if there's an emergency you've got my legs trapped."

"Later,” Kyungsoo was nonchalant as he turned to face Jongin, straddling him. “So do you tell him about guys you're seeing?"

“I don’t see guys. I don’t see anyone. Now get off me—this is risky,” Jongin sounded like he was having the hardest time convincing himself he wanted Kyungsoo off him.

"Just a few more seconds," Kyungsoo pleaded as he held on tightly to Jongin. His heart felt a little bruised after talking about his childhood mural and Jongin's arms around him was the balm he needed right now. And it was almost as if Jongin knew, his embrace deepening and his arms becoming somehow heavier on Kyungsoo in the most comforting way.

♦

There was a discreet buzzing before Jongin's screen lit up, the words Henry D Case pulsating in a sea of black glass. Reluctantly, Jongin reached for the phone, but he made no effort to push Kyungsoo off his lap—even keeping one arm wrapped securely around his back.

"Yes?" he spoke quietly into the phone.

"We have some new intel about the situation with the Shim family."

"I'm listening."

And then Minseok was talking about how Shim Changmin's death had catapulted his eldest aunt's eldest son Kim Junsu into the role of heir apparent to the Shim Family empire. But investigations into Kim Junsu's dealings hadn't revealed anything suspicious beyond the fact that he was a greedy man with fingers in lots of pies. More of a party type than the power hungry type, he had never shown any ambition or any signs of interest in family politics. As long as he got his allowance every month so he could maintain the luxurious lifestyle he was accustomed to, Kim Junsu wasn't bothered with what anyone else in the family got up to. Minseok seriously doubted he was behind the murder.

"Jung Yunho, though." Minseok's voice was hard and Jongin's mind grasped for some prior connection. He was bad at names, he always had been because people generally didn't interest him so there was no incentive to remember. There was, however, something familiar about Jung Yunho's name.

"Is he second in line to inherit now?"

"Yes. And there's more. The kid, Do Kyungsoo. . .he overheard Park Chanyeol saying they received information about his roommates being reponsible for killing Changmin, am I right?" Minseok prompted and Jongin confirmed it. "Well, those two kids apparently worked at a plant owned by Shim Changmin, and they were instructed to go to the apartment building where he was killed. Their supervisor instructed them to collect a package from there around the same time as the murder and that's why there was video footage."

"Is the intel solid?"

"Reasonably solid? Luhan and Yifan leaned on the supervisor a little after we discovered the two boys were at the murder site because _he_ sent them there. He was paid $5,000 to send them on that errand, no questions asked. And whoever hired him said it had to be these two boys: Kim Jaehee and Seok Youngsoo. We just haven't figured out why these two specifically. They don't have any affiliation with organized crime or our industry so it makes no sense at all."

"Kyungsoo was relatively sure they weren't into drugs but he can't be positive about whether they were into any other shit. Who paid the supervisor?"

"He claims he has no idea who it was. The man paid him cash and he didn't exactly care where or who it was coming from. All he said was that he was a small-boned young man in his mid-twenties, around 5 ft 8 inches, and with a wide mouth and straight, light brown hair."

"Doesn't sound familiar. Where was Changmin killed and what was he doing there?"

"Apartment building in the Upper West Side. High security so someone must have let those kids in. The question is who? He was visiting his mistress—a routine arrangement. He saw her every Wednesday at noon. He usually stayed for lunch and. . .whatever else and then he'd leave at 3pm. So when he was late getting back to the car, his chauffeur called the woman and she said he'd left her place ten minutes earlier. They found his body in the stairwell. On the 17th floor. Bullet to the chest."

"How does Jung Yunho tie in with all of this?"

"Yunho and the Park twins, Chanyeol and Chanhyuk were seen having lunch together the day after the murder. He allegedly handed a package over to Chanyeol and a few hours later, he was interrogating Kyungsoo's roommates. Coincidence? Doubtful. Highly doubtful. The Shim Family has several factions and the Park twins are fiercely loyal to Changmin, so they were out for blood as soon as they found out he was dead. If Yunho is the one behind this, Junsu's days are probably numbered too. He's the only one standing in his way now."

"Why would Yunho implicate you? That's the part I really don't get. I mean we don't even compete for the same pool of clients so what motive would he have?" Jongin bit his lip thoughtfully.

"Did I ever tell you why we never take collab assignments?"

"No. I just know that I only ever did that one and you made an exception for it."

"That was a special case yes—because I owed the employer a favor and because he didn't expect us to personally do anything we weren't comfortable with. I wouldn't have agreed to it for any other reason," Minseok explained and Jongin nodded, waiting for him to continue. "Fourteen years ago, I had to work on an assignment together with Jung Yunho. We knew of each other but we'd never actually met till we had to collaborate on that hit. I don't want to go into detail but Jung Yunho is not a man of principle and we argued badly about how we were going to carry out the assignment. He was willing to bend far too many rules and he didn't have any problem with killing women. That's why he was put on that job with me—because our fucking employer wanted the arms dealer's entire family killed. Women and children included. A fact he failed to share with me because he knew I would've rejected the job if I'd known." Minseok sounded more disturbed now than Jongin remembered ever hearing him sound.

"Did you quit the job?"

"No, because I was only told while the mission was underway and we were in position. I was supposed to take down all the men on the compound while Yunho took care of the women and the kids. I wasn't having any of that but Jung Yunho aimed his rifle at me and said he'd shoot me if I didn't get out of his fucking way. He was getting money for these kills and he had no problem offing anyone who got in his way."

"Fuck."

"Yeah. . .I had to make some hard decisions that day. If I stopped him, he'd shoot me and then he'd shoot the arms dealer's wife and kids. Either way, they were going to die. But you were sixteen at the time and Baek, eighteen. I couldn't risk not leaving that job alive. I still think about it though—the lives I couldn't save that day."

"You can't blame yourself for that. He would have killed them anyway. And you, he would have killed you too. Baekhyun and I would have been lost without you," Jongin said quietly. Kyungsoo, who had been sitting on his lap this whole time, silent and unmoving, moved closer now—resting his cheek against Jongin's chest. Having Kyungsoo's arms around him was like a salve on the gaping wound on Jongin's heart.

"I know," Minseok said simply but Jongin knew he would continue to be haunted by the lives he couldn't save, the same way he was haunted by those he had taken.

"What should we do for now?" he asked in an effort to distract.

"Nothing. Wait. Be alert. We haven't seen any indication of anyone moving in your direction but we've missed things before."

"Okay."

"And I hope you've taught that boy how to fucking use a gun."

"He has!" Kyungsoo, who was still seated on Jongin's lap, suddenly spoke up loud enough for Minseok to hear and the man on the other end of the phone gave a low chuckle. Oh God he was slipping so badly. He had the phone in one hand, the other on Kyungsoo's back and worst of all, he had Kyungsoo on his lap. If an intruder breached the house now, they were doomed. 

_What have you done to me?_

"Don't use my brother as target practice," Minseok said, loudly enough for Kyungsoo to hear.

"Okay enough jokes at my expense. Don't go anywhere without Luhan and Yifan, please?"

"I won't. I'm. . .Luhan is here with me now." And Jongin realized that wherever his brother was, Luhan was always nearby. 

"Good."

Minseok and him, they didn't talk about personal shit like this. . .but maybe he'd ask him about Luhan. One day.

♦


	3. The Visitors

**THE VISITORS**

When it came, it was like a forest fire —sudden and unexpected. There was no warning whistle or shattering of glass; there was only the loud, oddly hollow sound bulletproof glass made when it didn't break, followed by the shrieking of the house alarm. Jongin reacted instantly—dragging Kyungsoo behind the kitchen counter, shoving a Beretta in his hand. He had his other M9 in his right hand as he pulled open the cabinet beneath the counter. There were at least five different guns mounted onto some kind of display thing. Without hesitating, Jongin removed a gun that was a lot bigger than the M9. It wasn't one that Kyungsoo recognised. Then he was grabbing his phone from his back pocket and speed dialling someone.

"Yixing, HELP," was all Jongin barked before hanging up and shoving the phone into his back pocket.

"Don't you have to call Minseok or Baekhyun?" Kyungsoo asked, bewildered.

"Between Yixing and Zitao, they'll alert the rest," Jongin said dismissively before turning to look intently at Kyungsoo, eyes full of unwavering focus and urgency, "Do you remember what I told you about how to use the gun?"

"Yes, yes I think so."

"Just take aim and shoot. Try not to miss them completely, kid," Jongin instructed as he gave him a spare magazine.

"Fuck off, Ahjussi," Kyungsoo glared at him, mere seconds before the kitchen doorknob started rattling. Stealth was obviously no longer a concern for the intruders, Kyungsoo thought as he stared at the grey black bloom in the center of the plate window which had halted the trajectory of the bullet. "What if they get in?" he couldn't quite keep the nervousness out of his voice.

"We shoot them. One at a time."

"But what if we miss?" 

"You'll probably miss but I won't. Focus. I want you to stay as low as you can and stay out of sight no matter what happens. I mean that, Kyungsoo. I need you to stay alive. Don't take any stupid risks, okay? Just stay down. Just please be safe." And for a moment, anxiety flashed in Jongin's eyes and he bent forward and crushed his mouth to Kyungsoo's in a brief, desperate kiss. 

Kyungsoo was about to respond when he jumped—startled by the sharp gunshot that shattered the silence of the morning as whoever was on the other side shot out the door knob. Instinctively, his free hand shot out and grabbed hold of Jongin's arm. But he knew that Jongin needed full mobility so he released his grip and then there were loud banging noises as someone kicked in the damaged door.

Swift and stealthy and precise, three men invaded the sanctuary of the safe house. Two of them were tall, well over 6 foot in height, and for some reason, they looked exactly the same. If this had been a sci-fi movie, Kyungsoo would have thought they were clones. But this wasn't a sci-fi movie so they had to be identical twins—one with dark brown hair and the other with stunning platinum hair. And behind them was a much smaller man, one with light brown hair and an impish look about him. Before he could see anymore Jongin pulled him downwards.

"Stay out of sight," he hissed softly, "are you trying to get your head blown off?"

"Of course I'm fucking not! I just wanted to see what they looked like." Kyungsoo would normally have rolled his eyes or at the very least, glared, but this wasn't the time for it.

"What did you see?" Jongin kept his voice as low and inaudible as he could. 

"There's a pair of twins. Tall—like way over 6 foot tall. One with silver hair and one with dark brown hair. The third man is maybe 5 foot 8? Light brown hair," Kyungsoo whispered, and before he'd finished his description of the three intruders, Jongin was peering over the edges of the kitchen counter, guns raised and safety off.

"Can you see anything?" Kyungsoo tugged the hem of his shirt before he realized what he was doing. It was a nervous gesture and he stopped himself—his fingers releasing their grip on black linen.

"I see Park Chanhyuk, the twin with the silver hair."

"Shouldn't you be shooting at him?!" Kyungsoo asked, incredulous.

"I don't just shoot at people randomly. I only shoot to kill or in self-defense. He hasn't done anything yet so we wait." 

"We could be here all day, oh my God."

"If we have to," Jongin replied sardonically, "but we won't have to because they're searching for us—and they _will_ find us." 

"That sounds ominous."

"It is. Just pray Yixing and Zitao get here before they find us," Jongin winced just before he surveyed the surroundings again.

Kyungsoo shut his eyes and prayed for the first time in years.

♦

Jongin knew the twins were in the building but who was the third man Kyungsoo had described? The one with the light brown hair? He rifled through bullet-riddled memories, trying to think of people in the industry he'd crossed paths with over the years who might fit that description, and came up with. . .nothing. He didn't know much about the Shim Family or the assassins they had in their employ. And even if he did, he was good at remembering physical details like a person's face or environs but names had always been a struggle for him. He knew what the Park twins looked like, at least.

But Jongin knew he was just trying to distract himself with peripherals. The only thing he could really focus on at the moment was keeping Kyungsoo alive. He didn't care who was holding the gun as long as none of the bullets hit the man breathing loudly beside him. The fear and anxiety was roiling off Kyungsoo in waves and he was trying to conceal his emotions but Jongin could read them loud and clear. He wanted more than anything to protect him from the mayhem that was to come—the blood, the noise, the potential burning pain. It was too late to take him away from here now but he would do everything he could to keep him safe. 

All of a sudden, it was eerily quiet and the hairs on Jongin's nape and arms stood on end. His instincts almost never failed him and he knew things were about to get seriously fucked up. "Careful," he whispered as softly as he could to Kyungsoo. But before he'd even finished enunciating the second syllable, Jongin found himself staring at a silver haired man with piercing Siberian blue eyes. Chilling blue eyes. 

"Just hand the kid over and we walk away. You don't have to be part of this. Just give him up." Gleaming steel was pointed at them threateningly, but Jongin kept his gun hand steady. This was not the first time he'd been in this kind of situation, and yet this was nothing like the other times. Whoever he'd had with him had been a client he felt no attachment for. They hadn't been Kyungsoo. Honestly, _attachment_ didn't even come remotely close to describing what Jongin felt for the Kyungsoo.

"I can't do that," Jongin said firmly, never taking his eyes off Park Chanhyuk. 

"He's a loose end. We can't leave those lying around. It's nothing to do with you. We asked around and you were just the unlucky neighbor, am I right? Wrong place, wrong time? We just need the kid and we're out of here. This never even happened." The silver-haired man's voice was calm and reasonable and you would never have expected him to be a ruthless killer. But maybe Jongin had read him wrong—maybe Park Chanyuk was a compassionate man. He doubted it though.

"He stays with me. That's non-negotiable," Jongin pushed Kyungsoo behind him in what he hoped wasn't a protective way.

"Dude, this has _nothing_ to do with you. Just let me have the kid." The voice was still steady and emotionless but Jongin could see the impatience in the man's eyes. He was clearly not accustomed to being denied.

"Who told you his roommates killed your boss? Have you seen those kids? They wouldn't know one end of a gun from another. What makes you think they could murder a professional killer like Shim Changmin?” Jongin snapped, “They work in a food packaging plant for fuck's sake. And they were in that building because their supervisor sent them there. Probably scapegoats to hide the actual killer."

"People are rarely what they seem. Never judge a book by the cover and all that. Those two kids could probably have slit your throat six ways to Sunday, and you wouldn't have seen it coming."

"We were neighbours for three months. There's just no way."

"We were housemates for five _years_ and they couldn't even open a can of tuna without my help,” Kyungsoo finally spoke up for the first time since Park Chanhyuk had found them. “They're my friends but I have to tell you that they're hopelessly incompetent. I don't know who your source is, mister, but he's got it all wrong." 

"I just met you guys so I'm going to go with my source.” Chanhyuk sighed at them, teeth gritted in annoyance. "I don't have to explain my source of information to you. Just come with me, kid."

"Who is your source?" Jongin knew it was a longshot, and he probably wouldn't reveal his source but who knew? If he was planning to kill Jongin anyway, he might let the name drop since a dead man couldn't tattle tale on anyone—and at least Jongin would know who had set all these events in motion that had led to Kyungsoo crashing into his sitting room and into his life.

"Cheondung."

 _Cheondung?_ He'd been expecting Park Chanhyuk to say Jung Yunho! Jongin fought to keep the surprise off his face. Who was this Cheondung? He was sure he hadn't heard of anyone in the industry nicknamed Thunder. Who could he be? Someone new to the game. It had to be.

"Well, Cheondung had his facts wrong. My roommates aren't capable of killing anyone—they wouldn't have the skills. They were just. . .unlucky. What was it you said? Wrong place, wrong time," Kyungsoo retorted. Jongin shook his head inwardly. Why was the boy being sarcastic? Had he no sense of self preservation? Yet Jongin felt a stupid flash of pride that Kyungsoo had the balls to sass Park Chanhyuk when he was actually the polar opposite of calm.

"I wish I could take your word for it, kid, but I just don't know you well enough. Cheondung, on the other hand, I've known for two years. But we're wasting time. I want to get home before _Superman Returns!_ starts because those triplets on the show are so fucking cute. I never miss it. You don't want to be the one to make me miss it, trust me." The menace radiating from the man was palpable.

"Those triplets sure are cute." Someone was walking towards them, but Jongin had to keep his eyes trained on Park Chanhyuk. He couldn't see the man yet but there was something oddly familiar about his voice.

“Aren’t they, Kai?” The other stranger asked. And realisation flowed through him, like stark black ink staining white sheets. A face from the past was smirking at him—one that had seen him naked and gripped by orgasm. Kim Jongdae was working for the Shim Family? Jongdae was Cheondung? How had he never suspected? Jongin's tongue was laced with the bitter taste of regret as he chided himself for not keeping better track of the man. He'd gone by a different name six years ago. _Sagikkun_. Trickster. An apt name, apparently.

"I don't watch TV."

"That's right. You were always more of a reader. Are you still into science fiction?" He was speaking so casually—like they were ex-lovers bumping into each other at a bar rather than nemeses facing each other in a hostile situation with guns drawn.

"Maybe," Jongin was able to keep his voice calm only because he'd had more than a decade of practice reining in his emotions. Had Jongdae been behind the selection of Kyungsoo's roommates? Had they been chosen specifically because they were his neighbors? Things hadn't ended well between them but it had been six years—a hell of a long time to hold a grudge. But it was too much of a coincidence to ignore. He shifted his body in a far from subtle attempt to keep Kyungsoo hidden from view completely.

"Heartwarming reunion but can we move things along? My show starts in two hours, just saying." Park Chanhyuk's voice dripped with sarcasm, and his expression was one of utter boredom.

"You're not an easy man to find. You always did move around a lot. If i hadn't been walking by when you were talking to _this kid_ outside your building a week ago, I'd probably still be searching." And there was something in the way Jongdae said _this kid_ that made Jongin feel like maybe Jongdae still hadn't forgiven him for rejecting him all those years ago. 

Jongin had only seen Kyungsoo once last week—what had happened? What had the kid done? He'd made Jongin laugh with a story about some dumb customer he'd had to serve the night before. Jongin had tried to ignore him and walk on but he'd been so persistent with his story that he'd stopped to listen for a while. And it had made him smile and even laugh a little. Had he read more into it than what it had been? A casual encounter between near strangers who just happened to live next door to each other?

"Is that how those kids ended up getting blamed for murdering Shim Changmin? Because they were my neighbors? I mean you needed someone to take the fall, right? Why not two clueless kids? And if some of that mess ended up in my apartment, it was just a bonus."

"You give yourself far too much credit." Jongdae's lips curled in amusement but Jongin didn't miss the way his left eye twitched. What was he hiding?

"Anytime now," Chanhyuk prompted firmly before yelling to his twin, who was stationed by the back door. "Chanyeol! We good?"

"No sign of activity outside. Yet." The casually dressed, brown haired man was standing beside the doorway with his gun raised and ready. He had a loud, baritone voice and too late, Jongin recalled that Kyungsoo had heard him speak before.

"You," Kyungsoo didn't sound panicky or shaken like he had the day of the shooting. In fact, he sounded disturbingly controlled. That worried Jongin even more because this time Kyungsoo had a gun and technically, he knew how to use it.

"I don't think we've met?" Park Chanyeol raised a curious eyebrow as Kyungsoo stepped out from behind him. Jongin desperately wanted to step back in front of him and block him from possible danger—but knowing Kyungsoo, he would see it as Jongin treating him like he was helpless. _Stubborn, stupid kid. You'll get yourself killed_ , Jongin sighed in frustration.

"You killed my roommate, I heard you," Kyungsoo said coldly, the Beretta M9 pointed in Park Chanyeol's direction.

"Kyungsoo, don't," Jongin warned him quietly, hoping beyond all hope that he wouldn't do anything rash.

"Dude, it's nothing personal. He killed my cousin and he tried to leave the apartment. I couldn't let him do that."

"He didn't kill your cousin. He was a fucking loser but he was no killer."

"Well, we heard otherwise," Park Chanyeol shrugged, looking for all the world like a disaffected college kid in his ripped jeans and dark green hoodie.

"What happened to Youngsoo?"

"The other kid? We have him somewhere safe. You'll be joining him shortly. But seriously, we need to get going so just put your gun away before you end up shooting yourself in the foot. You don't look too steady with that thing," Park Chanyeol said coolly. Kyungsoo ignored him, of course, just as Jongin had anticipated. Kyungsoo didn't like being told what to do. Jongin had found that out for himself on far too many occasions in the past few days.

"He's not going anywhere," Jongin stepped to the side so that his body kept Kyungsoo out of view, and Jongdae's mouth set in a thin line, his eyes cold and unpredictable.

"This is the most tiresome seesaw ever. Just give us the damn kid and we won't kill you. There's only one of you, because that kid has never fired a gun in his life, let's be real. Three of us and one of you. Fucking bad odds, man. Think about it," Park Chanhyuk sneered and Jongin weighed his chances. He probably had three to five years of experience on the other three hitmen so he was probably fast enough to shoot two of them without missing—he had one chance at this. But the third man would finish him off. If Kyungsoo could somehow shoot the remaining man though, he might make it out alive. That was all he cared about at this point. He'd been living on borrowed time since he got into the industry but Kyungsoo—Kyungsoo had to live and Jongin would make sure he did. If only Yixing and Zitao would get here soon. Where were they?

He'd barely finished the thought when the two Chinese men arrived on the scene, sparking off a lightning burst of activity. They must have snuck into the house through the front door—they had the house keys after all. 

Chanyeol’s eyes flicked up to Jongin’s associates, and he murmured a low warning sound in his throat. The others glanced around, taking in their surroundings. _Details_ , Jongin thought.

The moment stretched on, silence and anticipation coiling inside them--too tight and on the verge of snapping.

Kyungsoo’s hand shook. They all moved a split second before the first shot rang out.

Chanyeol dove right, bringing his too large frame out of range before turning his attention back to Kyungsoo.

He twisted, sweeping a leg out towards Kyungsoo who only managed to widen his eyes before Jongin pulled him back. He raised his own gun, shooting Chanyeol’s gun clean out of his hand, the bullet slipping easily through his palm.

Jongin rarely missed, and he wasn’t about to today either. There was too much at stake. He fired off a second shot.

Wincing, the tall man crumpled to the floor--blood flowing fast from the entry wounds on his hand and calf. Park Chanyeol would have to be tied up and his wound treated, but at least he no longer had any access to a gun. Yixing had kicked it far, far out of reach. 

Several feet away from his twin, Park Chanhyuk had fallen prey to one of Zitao's bullets. He had taken a hit in the shoulder and currently lay on the floor, cursing eloquently as he held his hand over the wound. Blood dripped onto the floor, forming a macabre puddle. 

Jongin's eyes scanned the room for Jongdae and found him--half sitting, half lying on the floor. His face was contorted in a grimace of pain. He seemed to be bleeding from his lower thigh and there was no sign of his gun. Yixing or Zitao must have taken care of it.

"Kyungsoo, you okay?" Jongin turned to ask. To his relief, he found the boy shaky but whole, the gun resting limply against his hip. 

"No, not really." Kyungsoo looked calm enough but his voice shook slightly. Jongin was just so glad he hadn't been harmed in the crossfire that he impulsively hugged him. It was such a risky thing to do right now but it was like there was a bubble around them. For a few moments, that bubble just shut the world out as Kyungsoo and Jongin sank gratefully into each other's arms. Just a few moments and then Jongin was holding Kyungsoo apart because there was real life to be dealt with. It was time to help Yixing and Zitao restrain the three intruders. He really hoped he wouldn’t be the one stuck with Jongdae because he couldn’t look at the scheming man right now.

"I need to take care of things for now. You should go and sit down,” Jongin indicated the couch nearby before turning back to face the rest of the people in the room. Too late, he realized he'd disregarded one of the cardinal rules.

_Never show your back to the enemy. Unless you plan on getting yourself killed._

Jongdae still lay on the ground bleeding but he had his arm raised—a sinister glint reflecting off the frigid steel. Where had that gun come from? He must have been hiding it. Regret washed over Jongin at his own complacency and recklessness. 

The gun was aimed at Kyungsoo and Jongin's heart froze. He held his gun steady and shot at Jongdae's gun hand. But it was too late. Jongdae's bullet had left its chamber—the blast hurting Jongin's ears. In that half second of clarity, Jongin knew what he had to do and he flung himself in Kyungsoo's direction. 

Eyes widening in shock, Kyungsoo dropped backwards, falling like a stone as Jongin clung to his front like the heavy human shield he was trying to be. In the movies, it always looked elegant and graceful when people fell in slow motion. In real life, everything happened in short, sharp bursts of motion. One moment Jongin was diving towards Kyungsoo and the next moment he was landing on him. Both of them exhaled sharply, groaning at the impact as their bodies collided. It was doubly bad for Kyungsoo, with the unyielding ground beneath him, biting hard into his shoulder blades and back.

The bullet tore through skin, burrowing through muscle and tissue and scraping against bone along the way. Jongin experienced a pain so blinding his knees gave way. He cried out in agony. Sticky, warm liquid was seeping through the black linen button-down he wore.

"Ahjussi! Jongin are you okay?" Kyungsoo's voice was laced with fear and panic, his hands brushing at Jongin's face, his forehead, his cheeks. Then _ohgodohgodwhy_ , Kyungsoo moaned as he stared at his red-slick palm—his expression turning to one of growing horror. "No, no, you can't die!--Jongin, please! I'm begging you!"

His vision was blurring at the edges as the pain began to overtake him, and watery black dots danced and floated by. He could see Kyungsoo, so beautiful with his radiant red hair and further afield, and he could just make out Yixing and Zitao telling him to wait while the secured the area. Zitao had already overpowered Park Chanhyuk and was currently zip tying his wrists while Yixing bound the other twin to a chair. With a sense of growing detachment, he watched the two men move—deadly and brutally efficient. They could have shot the two men and done away with the step of restraining them but Minseok's influence was just too strong. 

Softly, Minseok's voice echoed in Jongin's consciousness, _never kill unless you're being paid to do it. Never kill when you can take someone alive._ His legacy lived strong among his team of assassins and no one took another's life casually. They only resorted to that when there was no other way out of a bad situation. 

"Jongin, Jongin, listen to me!" Kyungsoo's hands cupped his face desperately. "Stay with me,"

"Soo," he said vaguely as he sank further into Kyungsoo, his breath stuttering and his fingers and toes turning numb. He couldn't feel them, couldn't move them.

"Jongin, stay, please stay! Please," Kyungsoo sounded so far away and he sounded like maybe he was begging or crying or both.

"Don't. . .cry," Jongin whispered and he managed to summon just enough strength to curl his fingers around Kyungsoo's arm. And Jongin wanted to do more—to hold him, to tell him how much he'd come to mean to him, to kiss him and tell him he wanted him always. . .He wanted to do. . .so many things. But in the end he did none of those things because he was tired. So, so tired. Just set adrift. . .

_The world was wrapped in a kind of pale glow, the sun reflecting lazily off the lake. Just another halcyon summer day as Kyungsoo and Jongin's nude bodies slipped easily through the water—floating and circling each other. Jongin gazed into the distance, his eyes catching on the honey colored timber house they'd had built on the crest of the hill. It hadn't been completed for long and his eyes always searched for it to reaffirm it was there. Now that it was the hot season, they came down to the jetty often, dropping their discarded clothing onto dry, hot planks before flinging themselves into the water._

_It was nice having the lake on their own property because they could go skinny dipping any time; there was nothing quite like the sensation of water against bare skin and nothing but green trees and blue sky everywhere you turned. The sun was close to setting now, and the water swirling around Jongin's legs was warm as he held Kyungsoo in his arms. "Stay with me always," Kyungsoo whispered just before he kissed him, lips tender and cool. But then the sun started to sink lower, dipping further beyond the horizon, and the water began cooling dramatically. Even Kyungsoo's warmth was deserting him as the boy swam away from him—not far but just out of reach._

_**Cold. Why is it so cold?**_

As Jongin tried to figure out why he felt so cold, the world faded abruptly, and then there was nothing but silence and pitch black nothingness.

♦

"Ambulance. Now. Jongin is down. Chest wound. Yixing is about to assess severity." Kyungsoo heard the words but he couldn't process their meaning. All he could see and deal with right now was Jongin and how pale and weak and unresponsive he looked as he lay atop him.

"He's not answering me, he's not responding! What do we do?" Kyungsoo's voice was bordering on hysterical but he didn't give a fuck what the five strangers in the room thought as he yelled Jongin's name, asking him to stay with him. In the corner, the twin assassins were tied to chairs and they ignored the proceedings on this side of the room. Probably too wrapped up in the pain of their own injuries.

"I need you to not move, all right?" The tall, golden-skinned man with jet black hair and cat-like eyes instructed, and then seconds later, he and the man Yixing were gingerly lifting Jongin's bleeding body off him. Somehow they managed to lay him gently on the ground, on his back. Jongin looked so wan and so lifeless—his lips deathly pale. Kyungsoo tried to step towards Jongin but the tall man who was not Yixing, held him back.

"Let Yixing do his work," he warned quietly. His voice was soft but there was an unmistakable thread of steel running through it. This was not someone you disobeyed.

The man Yixing looked very worried, but there was an underlying calm to him as he placed an open first aid kit on the floor and squatted beside the unconscious Jongin. Swiftly, methodically, the man undid the buttons of the black, blood-soaked shirt before carefully separating the fabric to expose the wound. An ugly hole had opened up somewhere over Jongin's right rib cage. Kyungsoo gasped at the sight of the gaping hole surrounded by black gunpowder residue. Blood that was too red, too bright, poured from the hole and Kyungsoo’s knees gave out. Sinking to the ground in a crumpled heap, Kyungsoo wept. 

Just that morning, Kyungsoo had left kisses over Jongin’s warm, smooth skin and now it was all torn up and bleeding. It was such a complete disconnect; he couldn’t accept this was happening. It had only been a few hours since Jongin had taught him how to load a gun, only a few hours since Kyungsoo had straddled Jongin on the chair Jaehee’s killer was tied to. Why was this happening? He didn’t want Jongin to leave him. Everyone had left him. On the inside, Kyungsoo railed in pain, but all the other people in the room saw was a young man sitting on the floor, crying. 

Kyungsoo refused to accept that he was losing Jongin--not when he'd just found him. Having Jaehee die on him had been traumatic, but he knew, instinctively, that losing Jongin would be far, far worse. It would crush him. Entirely.

The man Yixing was staunching the blood flow with small towels he'd gotten from God only knew where. He pressed down gently and Kyungsoo cringed at how much pain that had to be causing Jongin. Unable to watch, he turned away, only to see broken pottery. The pot holding Mathilda had shattered into a hundred fragments, leaving multiple ribbons of dark soil littered across the floor. Jongin wouldn't show he was upset, but Kyungsoo knew that if that plant died, a small piece of Jongin would be extinguished too. 

So while the two men tended to Jongin, Kyungsoo squatted by the mess of spilt soil and pottery shards and gathered the remains of Mathilda into a large, steel bowl he'd found in the crockery cupboard. He scooped up as much of the earth as he could—packing it loosely around the plant. And when he was done, he sat on the floor, watching Jongin quietly, with Mathilde cradled in his lap. No matter what happened, he had to keep the daffodil alive—he couldn't let Jongin down.


	4. Vigil

**VIGIL**

It was one of those fancy private clinics. The ones where gun shot wounds weren't reported to the police and patients always had private rooms to themselves. The state-of-the-art equipment was sleek and shiny and the bedsheets were probably more expensive than anything Kyungsoo had ever owned. Not that Jongin was in any position to enjoy the privacy or the nice sheets. He'd been unconscious for two days—his condition still touch and go. He just lay there, all static and pale and wan and completely vulnerable in his nest of tubes. Jongin's wrist looked so frail with the stiff hospital ID wristband around it, especially with the plastic tubes weaving in and out of the grey-tinged skin of his hands.

It made Kyungsoo's heart ache in the most painful way because _he_ should have been the one lying on that bed, not Jongin. He let his fingertips caress Jongin's lifeless, cold ones—willing them to move. He'd been touching his hands and stroking his hair from time to time. According to the doctor, human touch had been known to help bring patients back from the brink so Kyungsoo had taken him at his word. Fortunately, Minseok and Baekhyun seemed content to let him do what he needed. 

The last two days had passed in a blur and Kyungsoo felt numb and dazed. He’d overheard Minseok and Baekhyun talking about the Shim Family situation but he hadn’t had the heart to contribute or to ask questions. After conducting their own investigations, the Shim Family had uncovered the fact that Jung Yunho had been the architect of Shim Changmin’s murder. Kim Jongdae aka Cheondung had been exposed as the Shim Family assassin Yunho had contracted to make the kill. 

The supervisor who had sent Kyungsoo’s roommates to the apartment building had mysteriously disappeared after Luhan and Yifan’s interrogation, but the Shim Family had somehow located the rat and dragged him back for questioning. He confirmed that Jongdae was the man who had bribed him and within hours, Kyungsoo's roommate Youngsoo had been released. To Kyungsoo’s great relief, Baekhyun had informed him that Youngsoo was physically unharmed. However, the state of his mental and emotional well being would have to be professionally assessed. Minseok had moved him into one of his safe houses for the moment—until things settled down, until Jongin recovered or. . .didn’t. Kyungsoo didn’t even want to think about Jongin not recovering. He knew he ought to see his roommate but he just—he just couldn't. All he had any head and heart space for now was Jongin. Only Jongin.

As far as he could tell, no one was going to prison for their crimes. He supposed the Shim family had their own way of dealing with this kind of treachery. No one seemed to know why Minseok had been framed for the murder and Jung Yunho wasn’t supplying any reasons. Maybe it was just something as simple as random dislike for someone who had tried to stop him from doing his job, dislike for someone who had given him a lecture about how unacceptable it was to kill women and children. All these facts kept floating past because people seemed to think Kyungsoo wanted to know things. But the truth was that Kyungsoo didn’t care. All he wanted was for Jongin to wake up, for him to be all right again— 

_Come back, Ahjussi_.

"You should go home and rest. Shower. Sleep in a _bed_. The nurses and doctors are doing their best." Baekhyun watched Kyungsoo with concern in his eyes. He hadn't slept much since the shooting—only dozing on the chaise for periods when his body gave out. At Baekhyun’s urging, he took quick showers in the en suite and changed into fresh clothes the other man brought for him. And Kyungsoo begrudged every minute he was gone because it felt like if he took his eyes off Jongin for more than a few moments, he'd lose him. Leaving the clinic was totally out of the question.

"Kyungsoo, go home," Baekhyun placed a hand on his shoulder. But how did Kyungsoo explain to Baekhyun that he _was home_? How did he tell him that Jongin _was_ his home?

"I'll just stay here, if that's okay. Do you mind if I have some time alone with him? Just for a bit?"

"Sure. Look, I'm going downstairs to grab a coffee and some sandwiches, so I'll get some for you too, okay? Minseok will be here in two hours to take over from me but I'm feeling a little hungry."

"Sandwiches and coffee sound good," Kyungsoo lied. The thought of drinking or eating anything right now made him nauseous, but he wanted to be alone with Jongin so whatever. He sat down beside him as he'd done for days, and leaned forward and kissed Jongin's forehead, then his cheek. No reaction. And it hurt Kyungsoo more than he could say.

"Stupid Ahjussi. Why did you have to do that?" Kyungsoo said bitterly as he rubbed away the tears that leaked out. He wasn't someone who cried. He hadn't really honest to goodness cried since his parents died. This was bullshit. Jongin wasn't dead. He _was not_ going to die. But he'd seen the doctor shaking his head earlier when he spoke to Minseok and Baekhyun in the hallway. Kyungsoo had no idea what the man had been saying but he'd looked so solemn. . .He couldn't bear it and had turned away immediately.

 _Why am I crying?_ , he scolded himself as he rubbed Jongin's fingers with his own—carefully avoiding the one with the heart rate monitor clip on it.

"Don't leave me Ahjussi. I just found you. You can't leave. . .I just found you," Kyungsoo whispered, his tears flowing freely now that he couldn't wipe them away. A few salty drops landed on the back of Jongin's hand--some landing on white surgical tape and others beading on his skin.

"Please stay, Jongin. I need you to stay," he was begging now—hoping that Jongin would hear him somehow and hoping that Baekhyun wouldn't be back for a while. Shutting his eyes, he tried to hold back the tears but his body wasn't co-operating. He was so frustrated with himself he almost didn't hear them. Soft words.

"No more crying," Jongin's voice was hoarse from disuse but Kyungsoo had never been more happy to hear anyone say anything in his life.

"I can't seem to stop. It's pissing me off." Kyungsoo was still crying but at least the sense of despair was gone. Shakily, his hands brushed Jongin's face, like he needed to reassure himself that it was really him, that he was really here, "I thought you weren't going to make it. Don't scare me like that again."

"All these tears,” Jongin managed a weak smile, “ you know assassins aren't supposed to show their emotions." He looked up at Kyungsoo, his fingers brushing his jaw. They were so cold. Jongin's fingers were so cold.

"I don't want to be an assassin anymore, and I don't want you to be one either," Kyungsoo said, tears running down his face. He never cried so why couldn't he stop?

"That's good," Jongin smiled again as he held Kyungsoo's hand to his cheek—clearly not strong enough yet for a real hug. "I missed you while I was away, kid," Jongin nestled his cheek closer to his hand and closed his eyes.

"I missed you too, Ahjussi. I missed you so much," Kyungsoo leaned forward and kissed him.

He was home. Jongin was back and Kyungsoo was home.


	5. Sanctuary

**SANCTUARY**

 

Last autumn, they'd moved into a quaint little house by a lake in Provençe. Minseok had insisted on giving them a "wedding gift" even though they hadn't actually gotten round to getting married. Jongin had thought about protesting and refusing the house but the truth was he'd given such a large portion of his contract fees away over the years that he couldn't afford to be stupidly proud. Jongin had left his old life behind. He was done with guns and blood and tearing himself up from the inside out. He didn't want that kind of life for Kyungsoo, and fortunately, after the near fatal shooting, Kyungsoo hadn't wanted it for himself either. Jongin half suspected Kyungsoo had never really wanted it—not that he’d ever admit it to him. Kyungsoo’s pride was a fearsome thing and Jongin wouldn’t want it any other way (most of the time at least).

He had enough saved up so that neither of them would have to seriously work for the next few years. It was a good thing he hadn't given _all_ his earnings away. He'd probably get some low key job later on like work in a library or maybe a bookstore—a job that didn't require him to speak to people much or make any kind of eye contact would be perfect for him. But those were all things for the not-so-distant future that he didn’t want to spend too much time thinking about. He just wanted to breathe for a while and remember what it was like to live a normal life—to walk through the town with his eyes facing forward, and return smiles directed his way, and maybe even exchange words with passersby. This. . .interacting with people thing was still a difficult process for him but he was trying. Who knew? Maybe one day he'd even get the hang of it. 

It was nice to be able to sit outside a café and dine al fresco, or just sip coffee while he read a novel. And he’d discovered he had a penchant for just watching the world go by as he took bites of flaky, buttery croissant or brioche. Sometimes he did these things with Kyungsoo and sometimes he did them himself; it didn't really matter. It was just a blessing to not have to look over your shoulder all the time. There were times too when they sat beside each other in front of a pâtisserie and read the papers together, their fingers interlaced on Kyungsoo's lap. They'd been together for almost two years now and Kyungsoo was still a toucher, and Jongin appreciated that. So much.

He also appreciated the little time he spent with Minseok and Baekhyun, who visited them every few months (sometimes with Luhan in tow). Jongin really needed to ask Minseok if he and Luhan were a thing but there never seemed to be a right time. So his brothers either came to visit or they arranged to rendezvous in a random European city. Maybe someday soon he and Kyungsoo would move back to the States. . .but not just yet. He liked their quiet life here. Jongin didn’t always enjoy traveling because it sometimes reminded him too much of his old life, but Kyungsoo’s love for seeing new places was so infectious it rubbed off on him a little. Kyungsoo was just. . .infectious. Jongin laughed a lot more now that he wasn't weighed down by the guilt of taking lives. But more than anything, he laughed mostly because Kyungsoo was here and Kyungsoo made him happy—more happy than he had any right to be after all the soul-sapping darkness of his former life. 

He didn’t deserve it but Kyungsoo made him forget, made him sleep on the bed with him every night—their bodies and hearts bound together. Irrevocably. Once in a while, Jongin would wake up in the middle of the night and move to the floor. Too many years of habit (and guilt) were hard to leave behind. Every time he did that though, he would awaken the following morning enfolded in the warm blanket of Kyungsoo’s body. In fact, it had happened as recently as two days before.

“Why are you down here again?” Kyungsoo had asked as he curled his fingers over Jongin’s—his arms curved protectively over Jongin’s chest.

“I don’t know,” Jongin sighed, “sometimes I feel like I’m cheating fate y’know? I killed people. I shouldn’t be here. This life—our life together isn’t something I deserve.”

“You saved a lot of lives getting rid of bad people, Jongin. You need to forgive yourself. It’s time,” Kyungsoo squeezed his hand and kissed him on the nape. His touch was like a balm to Jongin. Kyungsoo’s skin against his skin always centered him, and Jongin knew he would be lost without him.

“I guess,” Jongin said quietly even if he didn’t really believe it was possible. But when Kyungsoo kissed him and touched him and made love to him, he could forget. For a while. That was really more than he could ever have hoped for. So Jongin continued to cling to Kyungsoo and Kyungsoo seemed more than happy to let him to do so. 

There was so much to be thankful for, but perhaps one of the best things about his new life was the luxury of standing or sitting in front of an open window without his heart rate spiking. Of standing in front of an open window without worrying that a bullet might come whizzing through and hit him right in the chest or perhaps on the forehead. Of feeling free to stick his head out and inhale the air outside his home, with the sun and the wind caressing his face. 

Jongin loved reading by the open window, lambent sunshine spilling across words and pages. Losing himself in worlds far removed from this one as he sat in a comfortable armchair by the window, gifted him a peace and contentment he couldn’t describe. Nearby, he had set up a large bookcase which he had filled with his favorite books. They were mostly science fiction novels interspersed with the occasional literary novel. There wasn’t a single thriller in his collection because they were books he could never read. They were filled with things he never wanted to relive so could never enjoy them—not even vicariously. 

Sometime in the past two years, Kyungsoo had decided he liked buying Jongin books. He usually ended up buying quirky fantasy novels with vibrant, artistic covers that "called" to him. They inevitably turned out to be books Jongin would never have considered buying for himself; but he made himself read them anyway. He read them because Kyungsoo had chosen them with care; and most of all, he read them because he wanted Kyungsoo to feel good. Jongin appreciated the effort (even if he thought they were the most god awful books he'd ever had the misfortune to read). To his utter relief, Kyungsoo never bought him thrillers and Jongin was grateful for that. Jongin was just grateful for Kyungsoo. Every fucking day, he was grateful. 

It was an unseasonably warm spring this year, and the French doors were wide open, letting in the balmy afternoon breeze which filled the inside of the house with its warm caress. Jongin stepped out onto the front porch and moved over to the vintage, cross-leg wooden table which was Mathilde’s home now. 

In the distance, he could see the wooden pier that led to their private lake—the water glinting fiercely in the mid-afternoon sun. It was too bad the weather was still too cool for skinny dipping, Jongin sighed, as he tilted the small, hunter green watering can. No longer confined to being indoors, Mathilde was thriving in the Provençal climate—her rich, green stems heavy with golden yellow blossoms. A few inches to the left was an identical plant Jongin had bought for Kyungsoo, which Kyungsoo had named Léon after an assassin in a Luc Besson film. He watered the second daffodil before looking at his watch. It was 4.05pm. 

_Not much longer now_. 

Jongin settled himself on the large porch swing and pushed off gently with his feet. He always enjoyed the soothing, swaying motion. The wheat-colored cushions were soft and comfortable, and the breeze tickled his face—making his eyelids feel heavier and heavier. He knew it was almost time but could probably afford to close his eyes for a few seconds. . .

♦

"Bonjour, Matthieu," Kyungsoo's voice was husky against his earlobe, and his body a warm weight on his lap. Kyungsoo always greeted him by this name after his Tuesday and Thursday French lessons. The first few times had been a little painful for Jongin. The only people who had ever called him Matthieu were his sister and his mother, and they were long gone. But it hadn't taken long for Jongin to get used to the sound of his long forgotten name on Kyungsoo's lips. And anyway, he was Jongin's family now. 

"Bonjour, Kyungsoo," Jongin returned the greeting just before they kissed.

"Did you have a good afternoon?"

"You should be asking me in French," Jongin scolded. He had done high school French and could speak enough conversational French to get by without going for lessons the way Kyungsoo had to.

"Fuck that. We're at home—I'm not speaking to you in French, Ahjussi. That's just weird."

"Well we're fucking each other, and you're still calling me Ahjussi. _That's_ not weird?" Jongin chuckled as his arms wrapped around the younger man's waist. Having Kyungsoo in his arms while the sunshine warmed their skin was the most special thing, and Jongin indulged in it as often as he could. Shamelessly.

"You're talking too much," Kyungsoo grumbled as his fingers crept under Jongin's shirt and trailed over the smooth skin of his flat tummy, up and up towards his ribs. Gently, reverently, his fingertips went over bumpy pink skin and Jongin closed his eyes. After the shooting, Kyungsoo had avoided looking at the scar for the longest time, explaining that the emotions were still too raw and the puckered skin too much of an ugly reminder that he'd almost lost Jongin. But with time, he'd become accustomed to it—even lavishing attention on it. 

"We should go inside," Jongin whispered as Kyungsoo's hands roamed across his skin, his hips rocking into Jongin's—setting the swing swaying.

"Let's not. It's nice out here. I like seeing the sunlight on your skin," Kyungsoo gave him a lazy smile and he was so handsome with his wine red hair and his plump lips that Jongin had to catch his breath for a moment. Then Kyungsoo was leaning in and kissing him, and telling him he loved him and Jongin knew. . .he knew this was as good as it got. 

He was home. Kyungsoo was back and Jongin was home.

 

~ _ **fin**_


End file.
